


Show Me What Spring Is Like (On Jupiter and Mars)

by dorlgirl, loonietuna



Series: All My Tomorrows [1]
Category: Captain America, The Martian
Genre: Angst and Fluff, Captain America x The Martian Crossover, M/M, Miscommunication, Pre-Ares 3, Pre-The Martian, Sexual Content, Steve Rogers can't see the obvious, Steve Rogers in the 21st Century, Unintentional Slow Burn, WIP
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-10
Updated: 2016-06-19
Packaged: 2018-06-07 12:38:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 33,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6804808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dorlgirl/pseuds/dorlgirl, https://archiveofourown.org/users/loonietuna/pseuds/loonietuna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Steve Rogers crashes his plane in the Arctic in 1945, the Valkyrie isn’t discovered again until the year 2028.  Steve emerges in a world without Hitler and without War.  While working for SHIELD under Director Romanov, Steve meets Dr. Chris Beck, a SHIELD doctor looking for a career change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Cross-posted from [tumblr](http://captainbeardburn.tumblr.com/beck-rogers-fic). [Dorlgirl](http://dorlgirl.tumblr.com) and I have been working on this crossover for the past several months. We are posting it to AO3 after a few of you requested to see it here. 
> 
> This is part one of three. We plan to write this over several parts, including Chris's acceptance into NASA and through to the events of The Martian and Ares 3. 
> 
> Part one will be their initial meeting through Chris's acceptance to NASA and move to Houston.  
> Part two will cover Chris's training and the boys settling into a new, domestic life.  
> Part three will cover the events that we know of The Martian.
> 
> big, BIG, **_BIG_** thank you to [phou-ka](http://phou-ka.tumblr.com) for their elite beta skillz. Also, major thanks to the wonderful [dwindlingdichotomy](dwindlingdichotomy.tumblr.com) for their constant cheerleading and hand-holding!

“For the thousandth time: I’m _fine_ ,” Steve groaned. It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t exactly the truth either. He ached all the way down to his bones, sore in a way he hadn’t felt since the thaw, but it was nothing a few hours rest wouldn’t take care of.

“Rogers, an entire ten story building collapsed on you. You’re covered head to toe in dirt and grime and you’re walking like the breeze from the air conditioning is causing you physical pain – go to medical. I’m not assigning you another mission until I have a slip of paper with your name on it stating you’re medically cleared for duty.”

“ _Natasha_ -“

Natasha dropped the files on her desk and shot him a sharp look, green eyes piercing through him in a way that warned Steve he’d toed the line long enough. Steve clenched his jaw and dropped his eyes to his feet with a sharp inhale, breathed as deep as his ribs let him in an effort to tamp down his annoyance. Attitude in check, he tried again, this time rephrasing. “Ma’am, with all due respect-“

Natasha didn’t even let him finish. “Go to medical, Rogers, that’s an order.” Her eyes dropped back to the files on her desk in clear dismissal. Steve lingered. “Do I need to walk you there myself?” Natasha clipped with a harsh tone, not bothering to look up.

“No ma’am,” Steve growled, turned about face and stomped down the corridor.

 

* * *

 

“Captain Rogers, fancy seeing you here,” greeted Lynne, one of the SHIELD nurses that Steve had become quite familiar with seeing.

Steve shook his head. “You were expecting me,” he huffed.

“We may have been notified by Director Romanoff of your impending arrival,” Lynne admitted. “I have to call her and let her know you did arrived and that you didn’t sneak out like last time,” she teased with a wink. “Bay three, you know the way.”

Steve did, in fact, know the way. With a quick nod, he sauntered down the unit, closed the door and hopped onto the exam table. His boots barely touch the ground where he sat, so he kicked his feet and furrowed his brows as he quietly mumbled the argument he had intended to have with Romanoff before she took one look at him and dismissed him to medical. At least he’d caught the target and gotten his team out of the building before it collapsed. Steve was more than a little exasperated that he felt like he’d been thrown into another mission where only the minimum information had been disclosed. Had he _known_ that the target was a chemist who could rig a building with enough explosives to level a small town with just a few industrial cleaners, maybe he would have approached it all differently. Maybe something like that was essential for him to know to complete his mission.

“Fuck compartmentalization,” Steve muttered bitterly.

“Uh…”

Steve snapped his head up as a man in a white lab coat he didn’t recognize walked into the room. He was taller than his usual doctor, with brown hair and piercing gray eyes. His mouth was pulled into a deep frown, completing the confused look on his face. He glanced out into the hallway before he looked back a little sheepishly to Steve again. Clearly he’d heard Steve grumbling to himself. “Captain Rogers?”

“Yes, that’s me,” Steve said quickly, brushing off his embarrassment.

“I’m Dr. Beck.” He offered a hand ( _firm grip, but smooth skin_ , Steve noted) and slipped off his white coat before he pulled a pair of gloves from a box on the wall. “I understand you’ve just come back from an assignment?”

Steve raised his arms in a wide gesture. Natasha hadn’t been lying when she said he looked filthy, and he hadn’t cleaned up. “Straight off the plane and into medical.”

“Right, well, let me do an assessment and hopefully get you out of here real quick,” Dr. Beck sighed. “Take off your uniform.”

Steve winced. “About that…I’ll need some help.”

“What?”

“The uniform it’s…well…”

“Oh.” Steve noticed the tips of the doctor’s ears turned a little pink. “Ok.”

Together they worked at undoing the various clasps and zips that strapped Steve into his stealth suit. Steve found his eyes lingering on Dr. Beck, who still had his brows drawn in concentration, but when their gazes met, the doctor’s eyes would soften, and he gave him a small, embarrassed smile that almost stole Steve’s breath.

“Ok,” the doctor said, “I think this is the last one.”

Steve pulled at the front of his uniform, and it released. He carefully peeled off the top, letting it hang down around his waist. Dr. Beck turned to a file on the counter and quickly, discreetly, Steve checked for B.O. He was ok.

Dr. Beck grabbed a blood pressure cuff off the wall and slipped it onto Steve’s bicep and pressed a button. Steve raised his brows. “It’s a formality, I’m sure your vital signs will be textbook perfect,” Dr. Beck said coyly. Sure enough, his vitals were, in fact, almost better than perfect, (almost as if he had been artificially engineered to be so), and Dr. Beck asked Steve to stand. Steve hopped off the table with a wince that, unfortunately, the good doctor noticed. “Are you having any pain?”

“No,” Steve lied all too quickly. Dr. Beck’s lips pinched into a straight line as he eyed Steve dubiously. “Really, it’s nothing; I’m fine.  A couple hours and I’ll be good as new,” Steve assured as he rolled his shoulders back to straighten his spine in a show of good health. “This whole thing is – what did you call it, now? – a formality. I just need that little slip there, and I’ll be outta your hair,” Steve insisted, nodding at the pad of approval slips on the counter behind the doctor. Steve may have thought about pocketing it once or twice, though apparently over eighty years in the ice had done nothing to diminish his conscience.

Dr. Beck seemed to consider Steve’s words while he ran his tongue over his bottom lip absentmindedly before he sucked it between his teeth and gave Steve a curt nod.

“Ok, then.” That was all the warning Steve had before the doctor pressed his palm firmly below Steve’s left pectoral and into Steve’s ribs.

“OW!” Steve hissed and automatically flinched away, bringing his arms up to guard his chest.

“That’s what I thought,” Dr. Beck sighed before he stepped around a partition in the corner of the room.

“What?” Steve asked dumbly.

“Stand still, please, Captain.” A flash of blue light streamed through Steve’s eyes and scanned him from head to toe. “Thank you.”

Steve blinked, his left arm still tucked closely to his ribs. “ _Ow_ ,” he repeated weakly with a frown as the doctor pulled up a hologram screen projected on the wall to study the instant full body scan read-out. “You oughta work on your bedside manner, Doc,” Steve scolded with a wince.

“Sorry, but if you wanted a polite bedside manner, you shouldn’t have lied to me,” Dr. Beck said without missing a beat or bothering to look in Steve’s direction. “I’m here to make sure you’re not injured, not to baby you.”

Steve’s frown deepened, and he chewed on his cheek to restrain his tongue. He was beginning to feel guilty. He knew he had been taking his frustrations about Director Romanoff out on the good doctor and was starting to mull over an apology when Dr. Beck scowled at the screen.

“Huh…”

Steve felt anxiety punch the air out of his lungs, immediately jumping to the worst conclusion. _It wasn’t_ that _big of a building, was it?_ “What? What is it, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Dr. Beck said, his voice sounding more than just a little shocked. “Nothing’s wrong…” He stuck his hand into the hologram and flicked his wrist, turning the scan to mirror Steve so the Captain could get a good look for himself. “Everything’s fine, not even a hairline fracture.”

A deep sense of satisfaction flooded Steve, any thoughts of an apology went out the door, and even he could hear the smugness in his voice. “Huh. Well, gee. Imagine that.”

“You still should - ” Dr. Beck cut himself off mid-sentence as Steve stepped towards him, almost into his space. Steve could see the line of his Adam’s apple bob as the doctor swallowed dryly.  Steve wasn’t sure what the doctor expected, but the confusion his eyes when Steve reached past him for the pad of approval slips told Steve that _that_ wasn’t it.

“If you would be so kind…”

The doctor eyed him for a moment, those big, gray eyes squinting slightly, almost accusingly, a bit stunned at Steve’s bluntness. Steve should care. Any other day he probably would’ve sat through the entire examination and heeded instructions like the good soldier he’d claimed to be, but alas, today he’d had a building collapse on him, and he just wasn’t in the mood.

With a huff, the doctor snatched the slips from Steve’s hand and pulled out a pen, his jaw clenched tightly as he scribbled and signed the form before ripping it off the pad. He held it up with two fingers in front of Steve’s face, so close the blond had to lean back.

“Have a nice rest of your day. And put your shirt on,” the doctor instructed, before brushing past Steve and out the door so fast he didn’t even have time to think of a response. He brought his hands up to his chest, belatedly realized he was, in fact, still shirtless, and felt his face heat up with embarrassment for a reason he couldn’t quite explain. He was even more embarrassed when he had to go back to the front desk and ask a nurse for help to get buckled back in. She agreed all too willingly.

 

* * *

 

He practically ran back to the Director’s office, barely restrained bordering-on-cocky grin on his face when he trotted in to see Natasha still behind her desk.

He held up the approval slip. “All clear,” he announced proudly.

Natasha quirked a brow. “Please, Captain Rogers, come in.”

Steve ignored her comment. “I passed medical; I’m good for another mission.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Natasha said flatly. Her tone gave Steve pause.

“What do you mean?”

“Captain,” Natasha swiveled out of her chair and stood before coming around her desk and leaned against it, crossing her arms across her chest. It was a gesture that Steve knew was meant to appear casual, relaxed, but he couldn't help his instinctive unease. He straightened his spine and fell into parade rest. “How are you?” Natasha asked.

Relying on the familiarity of formality, Steve frowned. “Ma’am?”

Natasha shook her head slightly. “How are you, Rogers? Have you unpacked your apartment? Are you eating? Are you sleeping?” Natasha asked, slowly, but didn’t give Steve any time to answer.  When Steve just stared at her, she chuckled. “Captain, you woke up in the year 2028, it’s ok if –“

“I’m fine,” Steve insisted, brain catching up to her meaning. “I don’t need any time off to adjust, ma’am, I’m mission ready.” Geez, even he had to admit he’s laying it on thick.

Natasha tilted her head and squinted slightly at him. He wasn’t fooling her.

“What are you running from then?” she asked bluntly.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he answered.  

“Don’t you?”

Steve shrugged, shook his head. “I’m not running from anything, Director; just trying to stay busy and keep the world safe.”

Natasha huffed a shallow laugh and jutted her chin. “You’re a terrible liar, Rogers,” she accused, standing straight and walking back behind her desk. “Fortunately for me, I didn’t bring you into SHIELD for espionage.”

“But you _did_ bring me in – so use me,” Steve said. Natasha raised her eyes to his, considering him briefly before dropping her attention back to her computer.

“I don’t have anything for you now, Captain. Go home – get some sleep.  I’ll call you when I need you.”

“Natasha…”

“That’s an order, Rogers,” Natasha interrupted stiffly.  “On your way, maybe apologize to my new lead medical officer. I heard you were acting like a real dick.”

Steve narrowed his eyes. “He said that?”

“Didn’t have to – his report said it all,” Natasha explained. “Now, he didn’t use the word ‘dick,’ Dr. Beck was a little more objective with his assessment; I believe the word he used was _confrontational_. Color me surprised,” Natasha commented drily, leveling Steve with a look.

“I wasn’t…”

“Right, Rogers. I’m sure Dr. Beck was mistaken. You did walk out of my office completely level headed, hardly any righteous fury at all,” Natasha snarked. Steve rolled his eyes, but he knew he couldn’t deny anything.

“It wasn’t…I didn’t mean to…” _Take it out on him._ He couldn’t admit it aloud, but Natasha heard it anyway.

“Well, make it right. I highly doubt that was the last time you’ll be seeing Dr. Beck,” Natasha remarked dryly, and Steve couldn’t help but understand it as the order that it was.

“Yes, ma’am,” Steve muttered, trying to keep his annoyance out of his tone. He felt properly scolded.

“You’re dismissed.”


	2. Chapter 2

Natasha studied the spreading puddle under Steve for a minute. Her gaze swept up taking in the tattered sections of his uniform, the places it was stained darker with blood, the awkward angle of his right leg, the way he leaned against the wall for support.

“Why are you here.” It wasn’t a question.

Steve didn’t even flinch. “To give you my report, Ma’am.”

Natasha’s eye twitched slightly. “You couldn’t have typed it up and emailed it to me? Maybe after your trip down to medical?”

He straightened as much as he could, teeth clenched against the flare of pain in his knee when he tried to put weight on it. He’d barely taken a breath to speak before she was talking, finger raised and pointed menacingly at his person.

“Don’t. Do not. Not today, Rogers. I will drop your ass and haul you down there myself if I have to.” She grinned darkly. “Do you really want your team to see your boss dragging you down the corridors by your shield harness? I won’t even wait until you can stand up straight again.”

Steve’s face flushed hot, his ears burned, and his chest hollowed out in an all-too-familiar swirl of humiliation. “Director Romanoff. I have every intention of following SOPs and excusing myself to medical as soon as my report is completed and I am dismissed. Given the extreme sensitivity of this mission, not to mention my failure to neutralize the threat, I deemed an immediate verbal report the higher necessity.” His nostrils flared and he pulled his shoulders back, digging deep for his legendary stores of patience. As soon as he was sure he could speak in a tone and volume that would not result in an immediate reprimand for insubordination, he continued. 

“If, however, new protocols have been instituted, I will apologize and request immediate dismissal. I will also request an updated copy of the regs because apparently  _ no one tells me shit anymore _ .”

Fuck. He hadn’t meant to say that last part out loud, and he really didn’t like the smile Natasha was giving him.

“There it is,” she murmured, standing up. 

Steve braced, wondering which direction she would come from. She was a legend in SHIELD, even to someone who spent eighty-four years frozen in the Arctic. Natasha’s unusual training had been adapted into a series of courses only the most dedicated and agile of agents mastered. Steve had completed the first two, but not without difficulty. If not for that building collapsing on him a few days ago, he would have been on track for the third course already. 

It didn’t matter that the woman standing in front of him was forty-four years old, a foot shorter, and more than a hundred pounds lighter than Steve. He absolutely believed she could take him down on his best day and he was a far from top form right now. Steve shifted his weight to his left leg, arms and shoulders loose, hands open at his sides. 

Natasha’s sudden laugh pulled him out of the quiet place he always fell into the moments before a fight. 

“Relax, Rogers, I’m not going to rush you. Where’s the fun with easy targets?” She walked around the desk and hopped up to sit, crossed her legs and leaned back on her hands, body language relaxed and non-threatening. “Hill will be disappointed, though; she was sure you wouldn’t speak up for at least another month.”

Steve’s head snapped back in confusion. The adrenaline draining out of his system made him feel slow and clumsy. “Excuse me?” He worked through the possible meanings behind her comment and didn’t like most of them. “Were you…was this a test?” he growled.

“No,” Natasha said, rather more forcefully than her relaxed pose suggested. “We’re perfectly aware of what you’re capable of.”

“Then what the hell-“

“Steve.”

It wasn’t so much his name, but the way she said it that stopped him short. Soft, concerned, far too knowing and aware. It took him back to a bombed out bar in London, an empty bottle of scotch that made no difference, the weight of too many men lost. Soft brown eyes and softer brown hair. He listed to the side, braced his shoulder against the wall, and tried to hide his shaking hands.

"I’m trying to work with you here, but you’re not giving me much.” Natasha tipped her head to the side. “You look lost. Tell me where you are right now.”

He shook his head to dispel the fog that settled over his thoughts. “Nowhere I want to be,” Steve admitted before he forced his focus back on Natasha. He pushed the rising flood of memories back down.  _ Not now. _ “If it’s not a test, what exactly do you want from me.”

She sighed and looked down to study the tips of her likely lethal high-heeled shoes. “I’d like it if you would talk to me, but I know that probably won’t happen. I want you to be okay, Steve. I want you to want to be here. Or, if you  _ don’t _ want to be here, I want to help you find out where you  _ do _ want to be.” She paused, giving Steve a minute to collect his thoughts. He didn’t even know where or how to begin. “So? Where do you want to be?”

Steve’s jaw clenched and he ground his teeth for a moment. Now was not the time for self-reflection. If he was going to be honest with himself, he wasn’t sure it ever would be. Especially not with the way Natasha was looking at him; he just didn’t have the strength. He swallowed. 

“Right now? In medical. Will that be all, Director?” Natasha sighed and her face smoothed into professional blankness.  It was the kind Steve had become accustomed to, knew how to handle. Someday Steve might appreciate Natasha’s seemingly endless patience and her willingness to indulge his evasiveness. He ignored the twinge of guilt rolling through his gut and waited for her nod. “Ma’am,” he acknowledged with a crisp salute and turned, still gripping the wall for support, and limped out the door.

Steve’s thoughts swam during the limping, squelching journey from Natasha’s office down to the medical center. He didn’t remember getting there, but he was pretty sure he left quite a trail behind him, one more thing for Natasha to hold over his head. He paused in the doorway to collect himself but snapped to attention when he heard a gasp.

“Captain, what happened?!” Lynne rushed forward, calling for a wheelchair over her shoulder. 

He almost smiled. This, he could deal with. “I’m fine, Lynne. The uniform took most of the damage.”

“If you try to say it’s just a flesh wound, I will make you walk to bay seven under your own power.”

Steve closed his eyes, praying to a God he wasn’t sure he believed in anymore for strength. “Doctor Beck.” He looked over his shoulder, smirking at the unimpressed look his physician was giving him. “Such a pleasure to see you again.”

“And so soon, too. Another high rise needed emergency demolition?” 

“Potomac needed filtering. Decided to see if the suit was up to the task.” Steve bit back, smile firmly in place.

Beck huffed but pushed him into the wheelchair far more gently than Steve was expecting. He tilted his head back to study the doctor, noting the concerned twist to his mouth that was at odds with the vague annoyance he exuded. 

“Set him up in bay one and start a full work up. I want immediate diagnostics, particularly on that leg. Cut him out of the suit,” Beck smiled down at Steve, a sharp little thing that made Steve’s stomach clench pleasantly. He suddenly remembered his promise to apologize for their initial meeting. “Don’t let him sweet talk you into helping him undress.”

Steve gasped in feigned offense, hand clapped over his heart. “I would never try that on with a lady,” he exclaimed.

“So you only try it with the gents, then?” Beck asked lightly. “Or do you just think I’m easy, Captain Rogers?”

Steve sputtered through Lynne’s unsubtle snickering and was saved from navigating the verbal minefield he’d inadvertently stepped into by their arrival at the medical suite. He took a deep breath and pushed himself out of the chair, only to stumble the moment he put weight on his right leg. “Shit!” His eyes widened at Lynne. “Uh…sorry...ma’am.”

She laughed and tucked herself into Steve’s side, helping him balance while he spun around to land on the bed. “Believe me, Captain, I’ve heard, and said, much worse down here. Pretty sure you can’t shock me.” She pursed her lips and bobbed her eyebrows at Steve as she took his leg in a firm grip, immobilizing it while Steve slowly settled onto his back. “Even if you prefer Doctor Beck’s personal touch with regards to disrobing.”

“Oh my god, Lynne,” Beck muttered from the sink as he finished washing his hands and gloved up. “Just do your job. Heal people. Specifically, by getting this patient out of that uniform and getting me those vitals.” He bent over Steve’s right leg to begin his visual assessment.

“Yes, Doctor,” she demurred even as she winked at Steve and started to wash up. She pulled on a pair of gloves and stood at Steve’s side a moment, bandage scissors in hand. “Um, Doctor?”

“Mm?” Beck looked up from where he was peeling back blood-soaked fabric from the gouge in Steve’s thigh. Steve stared resolutely at the ceiling, willing himself to ignore Beck’s hands, a task that proved more difficult the longer Chris’s touch lingered.  

“I…don’t think these are going to make much of an impact on kevlar reinforced material.” She paused. “I’m pretty sure I can hear the suit laughing at me, actually.”

Steve snorted and looked at Beck, eyebrows raised and a challenge in his eye. “Looks like you get to undress me again, doc.” Beck’s head dropped back to stare at the ceiling. Steve tried not to laugh.

“So Captain,” Beck started casually, at odds with the strained look on his face after he once more fumbled his way around the buckles and fastenings of Steve’s stealth uniform. Lynne had finished working through Steve’s initial exam and moved behind the partition to start the holographic scan once Steve was down to his shorts. “Care to tell me how to you nearly drowned?” He pulled the image up and focused on Steve’s knee. “And managed to shatter your patella in the process?”

Steve sighed and closed his eyes. That would take a few hours to heal. “Well, Doctor,” he said, drawing out the words. Steve couldn’t exactly tell him mission details. He had no idea what Beck’s clearance level was and besides, Steve didn’t exactly want to flaunt his failures to the medical staff. 

“Captain?”

Steve, startled by the closeness of Beck’s voice, snapped his eyes open. The doctor was standing above him, staring down with concern. He ignored to swooping feeling in his stomach and smiled his best trust-me-I’m-Captain-America smile. “There was this fella, leading a squad of fighters in specialized suits.”

Beck nodded and sat down on his exam stool. He pulled a tray of sterilized needles, thread, scissors, gauze and bandages with him, and bent back over Steve’s thigh, ready to wash and stitch up the worst of the cuts. 

“They had some pretty interesting weapons, stuff we haven’t seen before.” He smiled brighter in response the frown flicked his way. “This leader, though, he was different. He wasn’t in a suit, he was wearing green tights and was carrying a trident. Sharp thing. Liked to use it to emphasize his words.” 

Beck froze for a moment, and Steve bit the tip of his tongue before he picked his story back up. “Said he was the prince of Atlantis, and he was sick of us mere mortals poisoning the oceans.” 

The instruments clattered onto the tray. 

“Said he was gonna lead his army of warriors from the depths and reclaim the planet. Guess the Potomac was closer than the Atlantic for their little invasion.”

Beck stripped off his gloves, dropping them to the floor and putting his head in his hands. 

“You okay there, doc? You don’t look so good.”

His shoulders started to shake, and Steve felt uneasy. He reached a hand forward only to jerk it back when Beck sat up with a gasp, laughing and wiping his eyes.

“Oh God,” his breath hitched as he brought himself under control. “Captain, I do know your clearance level. Just tell me the specific physical events that resulted in your injuries. That’s all I was asking for.”

Steve blinked at him for a moment. “…oh.”

Beck shot him an easy smile. “And really, the lost prince of Atlantis? You could have just told me your boots weighed you down.”

Steve’s eyes widened, and his face split into a genuine grin. “Rude, Doctor Beck. Rude. I will have you know I’ve completed several jumps, without a chute, and swam several miles in full gear to various targets without incident. My boots were not the problem today.”

The doctor rolled his eyes and pulled on a fresh pair of gloves. “Next, you’re going to tell me you had to walk in three feet of snow every day to get to school. Uphill, was it? Both ways?”

“Watch it, whippersnapper, that’s no way to talk to your elders,” Steve grinned.

“Pretty sure I’m older than you, Captain.” 

“Theoretically or biologically, Doctor?”

“Oh my God.”

 

* * *

An hour later, Steve stood in front of Doctor Beck in standard issue SHIELD sweatpants and tee shirt, leg wrapped hip to ankle in a brace, and shoulders sagging into a pair of crutches. He took a deep breath.

“Listen,” he hesitated, eyes flicking over Beck’s face for any sign of annoyance or rush to be elsewhere. “I was wondering if…would you…” Steve huffed out a breath and looked down, glaring at the floor.

“If you can spin me tall tales about mermen while I’m threading needles through your leg, you should be able to say whatever you need to say while upright and fully clothed,” Beck teased. “Or does having a shirt on somehow block your ability to communicate?”

Steve shook his head. “I’m seeing why Romanoff likes you,” he sighed. “Look, I do need to talk to you. Uh, kind of privately?” They both glanced over at Lynne, who was pretending to be very interested in cleaning up the detritus scattered around the hospital bed. 

Beck straightened into a more professional demeanor, “We could go to my office?”

Steve made a face then nodded. They made it to the front reception area, which Steve noted was thankfully quiet, before he stopped abruptly. “Actually,” he held out a hand, halting the doctor’s progress. “Could you meet me? After your shift?” He fought to stay still under the laser-intense look the other man was giving him.

Beck nodded slowly. “Okay. I’m off at 6. I can meet you after 7:30.”

Steve sighed in relief. “Great. There’s this place I like downtown…”

 

* * *

Steve couldn't remember being nervous. Not like this, at least. He had told Peggy once that talking to a woman always seemed so terrifying until it just wasn't that important. After Project Rebirth, nothing but stopping the Red Skull and ending the war mattered. The day that happened, the day he died making sure Hydra would never hurt someone else, he figured that was an end to it all. 

Then, he woke up to find he was wrong. 

Suddenly it was 2028. Not only was he not dead, but there were superheroes following the path he forged, covert government agencies making sure the world stayed as safe as it could be, and scores of men and women dedicating their lives to bringing freedom and quality to the world. 

Natasha had asked him if he was happy, but Steve wasn't sure what she meant by that. What was there to be unhappy about? The world was in one piece, in better shape than he left it in. He had a good team, a place he belonged, and a purpose. SHIELD gave him an apartment, worlds bigger than he’d ever had all to himself back in the day, and more food than he'd ever before seen in one place. He'd adjusted to this new world, coped with all the changes, new tech, ways of living, different moralities and expectations. He'd settled in. 

Since she knew his physical comforts were seen to, Steve could only guess at what she meant and why she wanted to know. It wasn't like he'd ever had many people looking out for him to begin with. When he was small and sickly, most people overlooked him. After the serum, he quickly became used to the stares and gossip. He was either a specimen or an experiment, a symbol or a threat, never just a man. 

Since he was pulled from the ice all those months ago, Steve had been evaluated, examined, tested, interviewed, questioned, stared at, poked, and prodded. It was a sad comfort that this, at least, hadn’t changed. Why try to befriend people who didn't want to see past what he represented, who weren't interested in the flawed man underneath?

So, Steve stopped trying. 

It was easy to fall into character and be the hero everyone expected. He wore the pieces of his public persona like he wore his uniform; used them like his shield. He handled meet-and-greets and interviews with the same calm determination he used to walk into missions and debriefings.

Yet here he was, with a prickle of sweat on the back of his neck, feeling more out of place than he had since the first time he put on those tights for this first show with the USO and he couldn’t figure out why.

"At least I'm not wearing red pirate boots."

“They would complete your look, though."

Steve dropped his head onto the table in front of him and groaned at the sound of Beck's chuckle. "You have a talent for turning up while I'm talking to myself." He looked up, returned Beck's smile and gestured at the bench across from him. Steve tried not to stare while the other man removed his jacket and settled into the booth; faintly surprised by the slim form usually hidden underneath a lab coat. 

Steve flushed lightly at the direction his thoughts took and ran his fingers lightly along the wood grain of the table. His cheeks started to burn when he saw Beck staring at his hands, pleased (if not a little embarrassed) at the attention. He wiggled his fingers and huffed a laugh when Beck jumped slightly and looked up. Steve breathed in and leaned back, the leather cushioning creaking slightly beneath him. "Thank you for meeting me, Dr. Beck. I wanted to...well. I wanted to apologize to you."

Beck's eyebrows creased, and he tilted his slightly. "Apologize for what?"

"Are you really going to make me say it?" Steve moaned in mock annoyance, grinning at Beck's too innocent smile. "Fine. I'm sorry for being a bad patient."

"That wasn't so difficult, was it?" Beck teased and leaned forward to rest his elbows on the table. 

“Maybe not difficult, but it definitely wasn’t easy,” Steve confessed wryly.

Beck gave an exaggerated wince and sucked in a sharp breath. “Yeah, I’ve got to admit, it looked pretty painful from where I’m sitting.”

He rolled his eyes good-naturedly; contrary to popular belief, Steve Rogers could, in fact, take a joke. “I mean it, though,” he insisted. “I, uh, realized that I was acting like a real di-…uh, jerk.  It had nothing to do with you just -” he waved a hand in the air as an explanation “- the situation.”

Beck watched Steve, considering. Their eyes connected and Beck didn’t look away. Instead, he held his gaze long enough that Steve felt the urge to squirm under the benign intensity and the heat blossoming beneath his collar. Just as Steve was about to tap out and look away first, Beck cleared his throat and dropped his eyes to the table between them, clasping his hands together. 

“While I appreciate the apology, it isn’t necessary. We’re both professionals, and I know the nature of your work. I get that some days are more trying than others.” He paused, chuckling to himself before he added, “You’re hardly my first difficult patient.” 

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Steve said. “Still, that’s not an excuse, is it?”

Beck glanced back up at Steve with an amused smirk playing on his lips.  He leaned back in his seat, slouching a little and crossed his arms over his chest, tapped his fingers on his bicep as he considered Steve a moment. 

Steve’s focus narrowed to the taught stretch of fabric barely giving way under the press of fingertips. 

“No. No, I guess it’s not,” Beck answered with a short, breathy laugh, pulling Steve’s attention back up. “Well then, if that’s the case, Captain Rogers, I suppose you owe me a drink?” 

“Yeah, I think I do,” Steve chuckled, waving at the waitress at the bar. “And please, it’s just Steve,” he added.  He couldn’t explain why exactly, but hearing Beck call him Captain Rogers didn’t sit right with Steve. Sometimes it seemed like he’d never properly adjusted to his title.  

Beck glanced back at his face, brows creased.

“You know what, let’s just try this whole thing again,” he decided with a shrug. He extended a hand across the table. “Steve Rogers.”

“Steve,” Beck repeated, that wrinkle between his brows smoothing over as he pursed his lips and nodded, a little smirk on his lips.  Beck held his amused look for a beat before it spilled out into a full smile – one that Steve could only describe as stunning – and left Steve breathless for a moment before the doctor fitted his hand into Steve’s, grip firm. “Nice to meet you, Steve, I’m Chris.” 

“It’s a pleasure, Chris,” he grinned back. All too soon, Chris pulled his hand back and grabbed the menu of drink specials from between them, cleared his throat and pulled his bottom lip between his teeth.

“So, Steve,” Beck started. He sounded faintly winded and kept his eyes resolutely on the menu in his hands. “About that drink…”


	3. Chapter 3

"Captain Rogers," Chris sounded amused. "We’ve got to stop meeting like this."

Steve cracked an eye open and groaned at the harsh light. “Thought I asked you to call me Steve." Chris might be smiling. Or grimacing. It was a little difficult to tell with his vision swimming. He closed his eye. "Can you turn the lights down? Or off? Off would be nice."

"I'm afraid not, Captain," the doctor replied as he pulled one of Steve's eyelids open and waved a flashlight back and forth in front of the exposed pupil.

"Ah!" Steve flinched back, restraining himself from personally removing the source of pain. Physical assault wouldn’t help his ‘Make Friends With Chris’ plan. "In my defense," he mumbled and winced when Beck started prodding the cuts on his head, "it wasn't a ten story building this time."

"Really."

“Or a horde of sea warriors.” Steve risked another peek up at Chris, who was palpating his torso for internal injuries. Steve winced again when the pressure settled on a sore spot. "It may have involved a motorcycle. And a quinjet."

"....at the same time?" Chris sounded vaguely disbelieving.

Steve sucked in a deep breath when instructed. "And a sixty-foot drop?” 

“From the quinjet?” The question floated over from behind the holo-screen.

Steve sighed and let his eyes slip closed again. “Yeah. Too bad the bike didn’t make it. I  _ liked _ that bike.”

“Captain, are you telling me you rode your motorcycle out of a jet when it was sixty feet off the ground?”

“No!” Steve cracked his eye open to track Chris’ progress across the suite. He smiled and let his eyes slip shut, senses focused on the doctor.

“Oh thank God,” Chris muttered while he manipulated the hologram and noted the not inconsiderable list of injuries on his tablet. 

“It had been hijacked, so I drove the motorcycle off the roof of the nearest building onto the jet, then disabled the engines with my shield. The jet kinda started falling. While I was still on it. So…yeah that was the sixty feet.”

The utter silence of the room made Steve frown. He braced against the glare of the fluorescent lights and opened his eyes again, squinted over at Chris. He was surprised at the look of marvel on the man’s face. 

“You are either insane or suicidal, and I’m ashamed to say that either way, it’s impressive. Are you honestly this cavalier with yourself? Do you actually—“

Steve gestured to himself. “Super soldier,” he singsonged, taking pleasure in watching Chris try to fight the grin threatening to break free.

“Captain - ”

“ _ Steve _ .”

“Captain Steve…” Steve rolled his eyes and dropped his head back onto the pillow with a groan, smiling when Chris’ grin finally made an appearance: impossibly wide, boyish and sweet. It faded as quickly as it appeared, replaced with what Steve had come to recognize as Doctor Beck’s lecture face. “Super soldier or not, these stunts you’re pulling are becoming more and more ludicrous and, more importantly, increasingly dangerous. It’s no small wonder how you haven’t ended up admitted-“

“ _ Beck _ , I know you don’t approve of my methods because they’re –“

“Stupid.”

“- Nontraditional,” Steve said, unable to hide his growing smirk. Chris’ entire head rolled along with his eyes. “But!  _ But _ \- I get the job done, and that’s what’s important,” Steve finished firmly.  He settled back onto the exam table, laced his fingers onto his stomach and closed his eyes with a sigh. He could hear Chris move to stand beside him.

“Do you even listen to yourself?” the doctor muttered.

“I’m not deaf anymore, so I couldn’t tune myself out if I tried,” Steve pointed out. He easily heard the surprised huff of laughter.

“Who knew Captain America was such a sarcastic pain in the ass?” Chris asked acerbically.

“Cap is America’s golden boy…Steve Rogers, though? I hear he’s kind of a dick – oh no, I’m sorry,  _ confrontational _ ,” Steve corrected casually. He could hear Chris start to stammer around excuses, or maybe an apology. “You didn’t think I’d let that one go, did you?” Steve asked, turning his head to face the good doctor with an unimpressed stare. Chris blinked at him, gray eyes wide and mortified.  As badly as Steve wanted to watch him squirm, he took pity and gave in, flashing a wicked grin.

“Oh, you’re  _ joking _ – he’s a joker!” Chris groaned aloud to no one but the two of them. Steve could see the tension drain from him, his shoulders visibly slumping as he held his pen loosely in his hand and pointed it in Steve’s direction. “Aren’t you supposed to respect your doctor?”

“Nah, not when my doctor is acting like a jerk,” Steve retorted, still grinning. “Besides, is this any way to treat your favorite patient?”

“ _ Frequent _ does not equal  _ favorite _ , Captain Rogers. Now shut up and lie still so I can get you out of my med bay.”

Steve didn’t stop talking, nor did he lie still, but he had the distinct impression Chris Beck didn’t mind at all.

 

* * *

Steve smiled when he saw Chris already waiting for him outside the bar. 

“Hey, sorry, am I late?” he asked as he jogged up to the doctor.

“Not late, and I’m not early, I just got here myself. Shall we?” Chris stepped up to the door and stumbled to find Steve already holding it open for him.

“Gentlemen first,” Steve intoned with a dramatic bow. 

“You sure you should be bending over like that? I’m pretty sure even you can’t recover from a concussion in a few hours and your ribs are probably still bruised at the very least.”

Steve didn’t bother hiding his small wince when he straightened, wrinkling his nose in response to Chris’ smirk. “Bruised is not broken and manners maketh the man,” he said solemnly. 

He tried to be subtle as he swept his eyes over Chris as he walked through the doorway ahead of Steve, muttering about hard heads. SHIELD uniforms looked good on that slim build, but jeans looked infinitely better. As did the dark v-necked sweater clinging to his shoulders. 

Steve felt a flare of old panic and subtly looked around, unable to shake the urge to be sure no one noticed him admiring Chris. Steve set his shoulders and followed him inside the dimly lit pub. He followed Chris around the bar, winding through the tables to the booths along the back wall, and waited for Chris to decide which seat he preferred. 

They were still standing nearly a minute later.

“Uh…”

Chris laughed. “I’m waiting for you to choose.”

Steve’s brows drew together. “Me?”

“You’re the…” Chris made a show of looking around before he leaned in and stage-whispered, “spy.” He grinned and leaned back. “I thought you might, I don’t know, prefer to have your back to the wall or see all the exits or something? Isn’t that how it’s done?” 

Steve started at him a moment, unsure if Chris was being serious or not. “Exactly how many movies do you watch?” he asked shaking his head before settling purposefully on the seat facing away from any of the exits. 

Chris took his seat and sighed. “Too many, apparently. The longer I’m at SHIELD, the more my boyhood fantasies of how spies live are killed, one by one. It’s really depressing.” He smiled coyly at Steve. “Unless you’re going to tell me that you’re wearing contact lenses that give you a live feed of all security cameras in the immediate area?”

Steve snorted and shook his head. “Sorry pal, I had to give those back to Nat. They were throwing off my depth perception and making me motion sick. I hear Stark was disappointed -” 

Two hours and several drinks later, Steve was warm and happy, with his cheeks burning slightly from smiling for so long. And from blushing.

“No, s’riously, how many of you does it take to strap you down?”

An incredulous laugh burst out, loud and bright. “Excuse me?”

“In. I meant in.” Chris tucked his lips between his teeth, trying to bite back a somewhat drunken giggle. “Strap you  _ in _ .”

“Uh, two of us. Me and one other STRIKE member, whoever is closest?” Steve still wasn’t sure why they were talking about this.

“But, why?”

“Why what, Chris?”

“Why can’t you get dressed by yourself?” 

Steve rubbed his forehead. “Oh my God.”

Chris' laughter could no longer be contained. “If you’re scramblin’ and everyone is rushin’ aroun’ with guns ’n everythin’, why does someone hafta take the extra time t’ help you get dressed?”

Steve couldn’t help but chuckle. “Okay, first, it’s called suiting up, not getting dressed.“

Chris waved a dismissive hand. “Semantics.”

“I’m impressed you can still pronounce that correctly,” Steve murmured, eyeing the empty glasses littering the table between them.

“Fuck off.”

"Significantly less impressive.”

“Rogers, I swear to science-“

“Unexpected, yet not -”

“And what the hell is with that mesh window over your tummy?”

“Did you just…you’re a doctor, one of the best in the country I’m betting, and you just called it a-”

“Tummy window. Silly name for a silly thing. S’what you get, Rogers.” Chris sucked in a breath between his teeth. “More importantly, though,” he leaned in, eyes sparkling, teasing grin spreading lazily. “How do you get undressed without me there to help you?”

Steve shook his head, unable to stop grinning at the man across from him, and unable to remember the last time he’d been so effortlessly happy.

 

* * *

By this point, Lynne didn’t bother standing up. If Steve was upright, she just waved him down the hall.

“You know the way, Cap.”

“Same as usual?” he asked, indicating the bays.

“Mhm. Nothing urgent?” Steve shook his head and Lynne smiled. “Go ahead and settle in, Dr. Beck will be down in a few.”

Steve touched the index finger of his left hand to his forehead in acknowledgment and strolled down to bay three. He sighed as he sat down, careful to keep his right hand cradled close to his chest. 

“Should I even ask?”

Looking up, he didn’t even try to hide the smile. “Chris. How are you today?”

Chris sighed. “In all likelihood, better than you are,  _ Captain _ .” He stepped into the room and gestured toward Steve. “What did you do?”

Steve’s eyes narrowed playfully. “What makes you think this was my fault?”

This time the sigh was long suffering - both melodramatic and sarcastic. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “That doesn’t deserve an answer, and you know it.”

Steve chuckled. “Fine, fine. I punched a horse.” The look of stunned disbelief on the doctor’s face absolutely made the throbbing pain in his hand worthwhile.

“Steve.” Oooh, a first name without prompting. Chris was not amused. “Why are you punching horses?”

He forced his face into a serious expression. “I’m sorry, Doctor, but that’s classified information.” A grin broke through when the other man threw his hands up and turned around. “At least it wasn’t a lion this time, right?  I can tell you it was a robot horse, though! Pretty sure I hit a reinforced hinge and broke my hand.” He could hear Chris grumbling under his breath as he walked out the door. “Chris? Are you gonna bandage this, or…?”


	4. Chapter 4

In retrospect, what Stark said shouldn’t have been a big deal. It was common knowledge, something Steve should have considered and realized before. He was the last one left.

Steve stepped to the elevator doors and pressed the down arrow several times with enough force it should’ve cracked under his thumb. He cupped his shaking hands in front of him, falling into a casual parade rest. 

It should have been a happy occasion, and maybe that’s what the surprise meeting was intended to be. 

It wasn’t that Tony had unnerved Steve; it was a surprise when he realized  _ who _ Stark was, even before introductions had been made. Howard couldn’t have denied the boy if he’d tried; Tony was a spitting image of his old man in both looks and temperament, even if Stark junior was considerably older than his father had been the last time Steve saw Howard. 

The man Steve had known in the forties had been a long ways off from settling down, usually showing off a different dame on his arm every night. Steve was sure that Howard would have been the last man to get married. As usual, Steve had apparently underestimated the elder Stark. Of course, Howard was long gone now after passing away tragically, and suddenly, in the eighties. That was one of the first things Steve learned when they recovered him -- one of the first things he’d asked about, after Peggy of course.

No; it wasn’t the overwhelming sensation of being visited by an old ghost that had rattled Steve. It was what he’d said, so casual and almost jokingly. “Wow, Steve Rogers: the man, the myth, the legend! It’s not every day you meet the last living World War II veteran.”  

It was such a small comment; the simple truth. 

Strange that the offhanded remark could simply shatter Steve’s world. The rug had been pulled out from under him, and Steve couldn’t regain his footing throughout the meeting with Stark and Director Romanoff. If Natasha noticed Steve’s distress (which, no doubt she had), she hadn’t commented on it. Instead, she casually suggested Steve go home early for the day to prep for his next mission, two days out. Steve didn’t fight her on it.

He held himself together until the elevator doors opened and he stepped inside. Within the enclosed space of the lift, Steve let out a breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding, his chest heaving as he took a moment to compose himself in private. Though, in a facility as large as the Triskelion, Steve should’ve known that he wouldn’t be alone for long. Within a few floors, the elevator stopped, and when the door opened, he was greeted with a familiar face.

“Captain Rogers,” Dr. Beck greeted him, a pleasantly surprised smirk on his face. Steve felt both relieved and irritated. Of course he’d run into Chris  _ now _ when he was on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

“Chris,” Steve greeted back, struggled to maintain a lilting tone he needed to encourage informality. Judging by the way Chris rolled his eyes, Steve was successful. Chris always fought him on this, insisting on calling Steve ‘Captain Rogers,’ but Steve got the impression he enjoyed the playful back and forth they had with one another. Steve stepped aside and waved his arm widely, gesturing Chris to join him. Chris grinned.

“I have to admit, Captain, I’m very glad to see you,” Chris said, gaze moving from Steve to the floor numbers ticking past overhead.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I mean…It’s great to see you outside of my med bay for once.” Chris smirked with cheek, and Steve rolled his eyes in mock annoyance.

“Ha-ha.” Steve ran a shaky hand through his hair. 

“Everything all right?” Chris asked, eying him. Steve hadn’t even realized he’d been bouncing on his feet. He cursed to himself, willing his nerves to subside. He couldn’t tell if they’d settled some or increased two-fold with Chris’ close proximity. 

His mind was scattered, jumping from memory to memory of people long since gone – even those who had survived the war, including all the Howlies.  He felt a lump rise in his throat as he kept his eyes resolutely on the glowing numbers over the door.

“I’m –“ the floor beneath them shook, sudden and briefly, and it was moments before the men realized that the elevator wasn’t moving at all anymore.  “Oh. Oh, I’m  _ great _ ,” Steve finished in a growl.

Chris swore under his breath. “Have we stopped?”

“Feels like it.” The lights were still on, which was a good sign, and Steve pressed the call button on the panel. It rang twice; no answer. He pressed it again;, still no response.

“Fucking…” Steve started, surprised when he felt Chris’ body press in close and stepping in front of him.

“Let me try,” Chris said quickly. 

Steve frowned, he couldn’t have done it wrong, there was only one button to call for help after all. Chris pressed the button several times in rapid succession, but still, no one answered on the other end. 

“Fuck!” Chris cried, entirely too loud for the small space they were now forced to share indefinitely.

“Hey, it’s all right. I’m sure someone will notice soon, “ Steve said warily, now aware of the palpable anxiety radiating off Dr. Beck. 

“Do you have a phone? I left mine in the office.” Chris turned from the panel, and Steve couldn’t help but notice this close how light Chris’ eyes were, so pale they were nearly blue. “Oh, sorry,” Chris muttered quickly, stepping back to the other side of the elevator.

“It’s…fine,” Steve answered sheepishly as he pulled out his phone. “Let me call the lobby.”

“The lobby? Why not Director Romanoff?” Chris asked, tapping his thigh with his hand and shifting from foot to foot.

Steve shrugged. “Kinda seems below her pay grade…”

“Captain America is stuck in an elevator at, what, thirty stories off the ground? I think that would concern her,” Chris grumbled, crossing his arms. “If it doesn’t, it should.”

He paced a moment in the small space, and Steve felt his mouth drop open in surprise as the pieces finally clicked. 

“Dr. Beck, are you afraid of heights?” 

Chris stiffened his spine, rolling his shoulders back. “No,  _ Steve _ ,” Chris hissed, the words too rushed to be as casual, “I’m not afraid of heights. The idea of dangling in a steel cage isn’t exactly comforting but…heights I’m ok with.” He sniffed, looking up at the floor indicators above the door that were no longer lit, and Steve couldn’t help the small smirk he felt pulling the corner of his lip.

“You know it’s gonna be ok. I mean, these elevators have emergency brakes, if anything were to happen-“

“Just – stop talking,” Chris growled, bringing a hand to his forehead. He turned to Steve and narrowed his eyes. “Shouldn’t you be calling someone?”

Steve raised a hand, palm out. “On it, bossy.” 

Chris rolled his eyes and put his hands on his hips, tapping his foot impatiently as Steve scrolled through his contacts. He called Natasha, who shamelessly cackled into the receiver when Steve told her what happened, and said she’d get someone to fix it. “Are you alone?”

“Uh…no, Dr. Beck is with me.” Steve glanced over at Chris, who continued to fidget, staring up at the numbers above the door, no doubt willing them to change. 

“At least you aren’t trapped with Stark,” Natasha joked. Steve felt a tightening in his chest again and didn’t reply, letting the silence stretch. “I am sorry, Steve, about what Tony said. I know he doesn’t often think before he speaks.” Her voice sounded grim and surprisingly genuine, and Steve was caught off guard by the apology.

“It’s nothing I can’t handle, ma’am. Just something I hadn’t considered until then. I’ll be fine. I appreciate the concern,” Steve replied formally. Chris’ attention snapped to him then, and Steve heard Natasha sigh over the line.

“Alright, Rogers. If that’s how you want to play it,” she muttered, and Steve couldn’t be certain, but she sounded…annoyed? “I’ll call the front desk and have them contact elevator maintenance; we don’t keep those men on staff here, so it might be a while before they show up. Sit tight.”

Steve was barely through a ‘Yes, ma’am,’ when Natasha brusquely hung up. Steve stared at his phone. “Well. Ok, then.”

“What? What is it? What is she concerned about?” Chris asked promptly. Steve looked at him in confusion, having momentarily forgotten the situation at hand.

“What? Oh, nothing about this. Just...don’t worry. She’s calling someone to come fix the elevator.”

“But she’s not worried?”

“No, Beck. She’s not worried,” Steve snapped, tone a little too mean. Chris clenched his jaw and leaned against the wall. Steve cursed himself internally before saying, much more calmly, “She’ll keep me updated.” Steve slipped his phone back into his pocket and leaned against the wall, letting himself slide down the smooth surface to sit. Chris glared at him, and Steve shrugged again. “Might as well make ourselves comfortable.”

Chris sighed, glancing back at the floor indicators, but ultimately slid down to sit opposite Steve, their legs barely brushed in the closeness of their quarters. 

“Thanks,” Chris mumbled, looking sheepish as he drew his legs up closer to his chest, “for calling Director Romanoff,” he clarified. Steve smiled, watching Chris attempt to get comfortable.  Chris fidgeted for a moment before resting his forearms on his knees, dropping his head between his arms. Steve stretched out his legs and tipped his head back against the metal paneling of the elevator. 

Steve hadn’t seen the doctor so high strung since their first meeting. Steve knew he had been a dick then but, when he replayed their current interaction in his head, he couldn’t say that that was the case now. 

Steve kicked out his foot. “Hey. Relax.”

Chris’s head continued to hang low as he shook it, running the fingers of his left hand lazily through his hair. “Sorry,” Chris said, “I just get…nervous in enclosed spaces.”

Steve pursed his lips and nodded in understanding, pinching his brows, then asking, “So why take the elevator?” It seemed like the obvious question.

Chris huffed out a breathy, weak laugh as he lifted his head up. He crossed his hands to his shoulders and rested his chin on his forearms. “It’s a stupid thing to be scared of.”

“Not really. There are worse things.”

Chris raised his eyebrows. “Like?” He asked, genuinely curious. “What’s Captain America afraid of?”

Steve forced a smile and shrugged one shoulder, eyes falling to his lap. What was Captain America afraid of? 

Most would say social injustice, or tyrants. Threats to the Constitution. Though more realistically Captain America was afraid of governments who tried to abuse their power under the guise of the greater good. 

But Steve? Steve wasn’t really afraid of that. 

Steve’s fears had somehow come true. After a lifetime living alone, he realized that this was it for him: a life of forced solitude. Tony’s words were the final nail in his unbelievable  _ metaphorical _ coffin - he was alone. There was no one, no one alive on Earth, who truly knew what he’d been through.  No one who could offer an understanding of what had been so fundamental in Steve’s life. It struck him as odd, and probably would to anyone else he might tell, that he considered the War as his defining experience, but that was just it wasn’t it? It’s so far removed from modern times – nearly a hundred years ago – how can he be expected to conform to a new society, to make friends, when he has no common ground, no shared life experience?

“Steve?” Steve tipped his head up and to see Chris frowning at him, his brows pulled in and his eyes worried.

Steve cleared his throat ( _ when did it get so tight? _ ). “Sorry, I guess I just got a bit…” He couldn’t finish that sentence, and instead he looked at his hands in his lap. They were the same as they had been before the serum: long, thin fingers, small wrists. Artist’s hands. He didn’t paint anymore. He curled a fist, felt his fingernails dig into his palm and couldn’t fight the bitter thought:  _ this is it, this is all you’re good for now. _

Steve felt a heavy weight beside him and turned to see Chris had moved from his side of the elevator to Steve’s own. Chris rocked into his shoulder, bumping away Steve’s dark thoughts. “For some reason, sitting next to a literal superhero might be a little comforting right now,” Chris said. 

“That’s funny because I’d like to scoot as far away from you and your luck as possible,” Steve teased though he made no effort to move. Chris grinned wide at him, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“I’m not a smart man.”

“You’re a doctor.”

Chris shrugged. “I don’t know what possessed me to do it. Recently I’ve,” he bit his lip. “Well, I was just tired of taking the stairs.” Steve sensed that wasn’t what Chris was going to say, but he didn’t press him. 

“I bet you’ve got great calves,” Steve quipped instead. That surprised a laugh out of Chris, who looked up at the ceiling and chuckled for a minute before looking back at Steve.

“Not as great as a super soldier.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Genetically modified, remember?”

“Doctor, remember?” Chris parroted back, “I once had to take a test on Dr. Erskine’s work in med school.”

“ _ Really? _ ”

“Yeah. I mean - you, Project Rebirth - to this day, no one has been able to replicate the formula. The fact that it worked that one time is widely considered to have been an anomaly.”  

Great. As if Steve hadn’t felt outcast enough, now he was a medical  _ anomaly _ . 

“Oh…I didn’t mean…to…” Chris began, and Steve frowned.

“I said that out loud, didn’t I?” Chris gave him a wan smile and Steve groaned dramatically, knocking his head back against the paneling. “Good one, Rogers.”

“You know you said that one out loud, too, right?” Chris teased, raising his palms up in a show of no offense when Steve glared at him, even though there he couldn’t muster any real heat behind it. “Got any good games on your phone?”

“Uh…”

Chris sighed heavily in disappointment. “Should’ve known. Oh well, I guess your stunning sense of humor will have to suffice.” 

Steve side eyed him, finding the doctor’s face split into a full grin. “Who’s got the jokes now?” Steve mumbled in feigned annoyance, unable to fight the smirk tugging at his lips. Chris twisted his body, turning to face Steve and crossing his legs. 

“Entertain me.”

“What do I look like, a dancing monkey?” Steve chuckled.

Chris quirked a brow. “Can you dance?”

“No.”

A mischievous smile. “Will you dance?”

Steve guffawed. “Absolutely not.”

“Fine.” Chris gave a huff, but he was still smiling, and Steve watched him play idly with the aglet on his shoelace. “What do you do, when you’re not off saving the world, Captain?” Chris asked, interrupting their comfortable silence. Steve let out a deep breath, thinking hard before he shook his head.

“Nothing, really. I read sometimes. I run. I’ve got a neighbor who likes to try and keep up. He’s a bit older than me, but I don’t really think he’s lost a step.” Steve chuckled to himself. Chris watched him with his chin on his fist, elbow on his knee, eyebrows raised. “That’s it really.” It sounded sad even to Steve’s own ears. “I mean…I work a lot, so…no real time for…stuff.”  _ Christ _ .

“What about the bar you invited me to the other night?” Chris asked. “Do you go there often?”

“Really? Do I go there often? A little late for that line don’t you think?” Steve teased with a flirty lift of his brow. Chris rolled his eyes, but Steve could see his ears turn the faintest shade of pink. 

Chris cleared his throat. “I mean, do you go out? Have friends you meet up with? Play a bit of pool? Drink a couple pitchers?”

“Nah,” Steve answered, feigning casualness. “Don’t have the time. Sometimes the guys from the team and I unwind after a mission but…most times, well, you know where I am post-mission.”  Chris smiled softly, maybe even a little sadly, and Steve looked away, feeling awkward. He really was a terrible liar. The air in the elevator became staler, and Steve internally berated himself and his inability to hold a decent conversation without opening the doors for a pity party.

“I had fun,” Chris said suddenly. “When we went there, I had a good time.”

“Me too. You’re not so bad once you get that stick out of your ass, Doctor,” Steve teased. Chris scoffed.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I get it; I’m uptight. Doesn’t mean I don’t know how to have a good time,” Chris said, his tone playful yet defensive.

“Sure. Just need the right drinking buddy,” Steve beamed.

“Yeah,” Chris grinned back. “Let’s do it again.”

It surprised Steve how quickly his heart flattened to his ribcage at the thought. “Yeah?”

“Yeah! It’ll do us both good. You need to get out more, and, apparently, I need to get this stick out of my ass. It’s perfect!” Chris spread his arms wide, a goofy grin on his face.

“I don’t know… I can’t have you cramping my style.”

“Pfft.”

“You’ve got no idea how the boys did it in ’45, do you?” Steve goaded. 

“And you’ve got no idea how the boys did it after the mock MCAT at Yale. Bring it on, old man.”

 

* * *

“Chris, just drink the damn shot already.”

Chris tipped his head back. The whiskey (which was definitely older than the man) slid down, and Steve watched Beck’s throat work, ignoring the heat pooling low in his belly. Chris finished the shot with a hiss and a grimace of disgust he hadn’t even tried to hide. Steve cheered.

“Blech,” Chris groaned, dropping the glass on the bar upside down.  He dragged his tongue over his teeth as if to scrape the lingering burn off his taste buds. “I can’t believe Captain America just told me that if I didn’t take that shot down in one go, I ‘didn’t have a single hair on my balls’.” Chris laughed, trying to hide a quiet belch behind a fist.

Steve bellowed a laugh and, sure, maybe he couldn’t get drunk anymore, but he did feel a little tipsy from the company. Steve draped his arm around Chris and clapped him hard on the far shoulder.  “Christ, Chris. Steve! It’s not Captain America; it’s Steve!”

Chris snorted and peered over at him. They were close, unintentionally so on Steve’s part, but he didn’t move, letting his chest rest comfortably against Chris’ arm. Chris smirked at him. “That’s right,” Chris said, his voice a little funny – probably the whiskey, since he was a self-proclaimed bourbon man himself - “It’s Steve.”


	5. Chapter 5

“I can’t help but notice you seem to be rushing this debrief,” Natasha said. Her expression was as understated as always, but Steve could still detect the faintest hints of amusement in her tone.

“No, ma’am. Just trying not to waste anyone’s time,” Steve answered. Natasha quirked a perfectly manicured brow and smirked. 

“Well aren’t you sweet.” 

Steve fought the urge to roll his eyes and bit back the comment that, for the first time ever, he felt like he’d been properly briefed for a mission (no convenient compartmentalization) and was actually prepared. The mission had been straight forward – no hiccups, no booby traps, not even the usual unexpected surprises like lethal genetically modified bats or oversized mechanical killer-horses. 

Steve shifted subtly from foot to foot before catching himself, quickly falling back into parade rest. Natasha still noticed. “If that’s all…”

“Got somewhere to be, Rogers?”

“I think I’d better head to medical is all,” Steve explained, glancing quickly at the clock. It was five-fifty. He knew Chris worked until six, and then the evening doctor went on shift and, well. Steve was more familiar with Chris.

“For?”

Shit. “I, uh…” He hadn’t thought that far. “I think I…pulled something?”

“Are you asking me or telling me?”

“I pulled something. In my leg. My hamstring.” He winced weakly and shifted his weight again.

Natasha frowned and cocked her head. This time, she didn’t try to hide the amusement in her tone. “ _ You _ pulled your hamstring?  _ You?” _

“I never exercised much before, guess warming up and stretching is just as important even with Vita-Rays and super-serum,” He shrugged.

Natasha folded her hands beneath her chin. “I’m so glad I don’t bring you in for undercover work; you are the least subtle person I have ever met.” He didn’t dignify her comment with a response. Natasha chuckled to herself. “Ok, Captain. You’re dismissed.”

Steve nodded formally and practically sprinted out the door, only remembering at the elevator that he probably should’ve feigned a limp.

He was such a terrible liar.

 

* * *

Steve may not be able to lie worth a damn, but he was very good at reading people and assessing situations. He could tell the moment he walked into Medical that Lynne was trying to not smile. “Natasha called.”

“She’s concerned. I don’t blame her. Her captain is reporting to the med bay for a check-up voluntarily – that’s unheard of.” She smiled wolfishly, and Steve looked away, embarrassed. “But - Dr. Beck has already left for the day; you’ll be seen by Dr. Patel. Bay four.”

Damn.

Thirty minutes and a prescription for ibuprofen later, Steve was shrugging into his jacket and stepping down the stairs into the lobby of the Triskelion, flicking the script into the nearby trash bin with an annoyed huff.

“If you’re going to ignore sound medical advice, the least you could do is throw it into the recycling,” came a voice to his left.  

Steve glanced over and spotted Chris leaning back against the railing of the steps wearing a soft-looking black sweater pulled over a pale blue button-up and grey slacks. The fact that Steve hadn’t seen him as he came down was a goddamn shame, and the passing thought of it caused Steve’s ears to burn in silent embarrassment even as he chuckled at the doctor.

“Patel gave me a script for ibuprofen,” Steve said in way of explanation, and Chris gave a short huff of laughter.

“Well, if you’re going to waste Dr. Patel’s time with a pointless examination, then you better believe you’ll get some sort of low-key, petty inconvenience in return. You clearly didn’t need the visit to medical if the spring in your step is anything to go by.”

“If I would’ve known you’d wait up then I could’ve avoided wasting everyone’s time, huh?”

Chris ducked his head, caught and pulled his lips in with a sheepish smile. “I heard you’d be back today.”

Warmth filled Steve’s chest. “Figured you’d take me out for that victory drink?”

Chris snorted. “No. I have a feeling neither you nor your ego needs my praise for another mission success.” 

“Hey now –“

“Instead, I figured maybe we could do something different,” Chris shrugged, twisting on his heels to face Steve with a look of boyish charm. 

“Such as?” 

Another shrug, this one a forced nonchalance that Steve could tell meant anything but. “Well, I’ve got a couple nice steaks at home and a fresh case of beer. Save our wallets and maybe our clothes…”

“It was one beer, and I wasn’t even drunk,” Steve defended himself.  Their last post-mission happy hour (not) date had ended with Steve accidentally tipping a bottle off the bar in laughter onto Chris. The apologies and attempts to help dry Chris’ soaked lap still made Steve cringe, even if he considered it a funny memory. 

“That time…”

“Anytime!” Steve laughed. Easy in a way that happened with Chris alone.

“Either way,” Chris continued, a cocky smile on his face, “I’ve got a grill and beer, the question is if you’ll let me cook for you. I guess we can say it’s a ‘congrats on not breaking anything this time’ feast.” 

Steve eyed him, the question leaving his mouth before he could think better of it. “You cooking for me…as friends?” His tone came out more accusingly than he’d intended. Chris’s smile slipped some, just a fraction, but noticeable enough for Steve.

“Absolutely!” Chris recovered quickly. “You’ve bought me enough drinks now, let me pay you back in a less humiliating way. I’m tired of you out-drinking me.”

“Super-serum, Chris. I’ve warned you time and time again –“

“Yeah, yeah…” Chris said, slipping back into that awkward confidence Steve had no strength against. “So, dinner, what do you say?”

“Sounds good,” Steve nodded.  He felt himself get a little brave. “What if it wasn’t as just friends?”

The corner of Chris’ mouth twitched with a smile. “Well…let’s hope I haven’t gotten rusty.” Steve’s stomach flipped.

“At what? Grilling?”

“Sure, Steve. Grilling.”

 

* * *

 

"Can I take your coat?" Chris asked sweetly. Steve hoped he didn't turn too red after catching Chris's eyes drifting down his body as he slipped his jacket off his shoulders.  The smirk Chris gave Steve as he handed the doctor his coat was, well...

Steve was pretty sure he blushing to his navel now. 

"Beer?" Chris asked, hanging up Steve's jacket in the closet. 

Steve nodded. "Yes, please."  

As Chris stepped into the kitchen, Steve looked around the living room.  It wasn't what he would have expected. It looked well lived in, the couch was big and worn, with thick cushions that looked like they would swallow a smaller man whole.  It was covered in small throw pillows and blankets, cluttered and comfortable in a way that told Steve Chris napped here – and often.  

There was a book resting precariously on the arm of the couch, spine up. Steve stepped closer and raised an eyebrow at the title proclaiming "Survival in Space: Physical and Biomedical Concerns in Extended Space Flight." Curious, Steve flipped the book over, and his eyes crossed. Unsurprisingly, the book was filled with medical jargon that Steve couldn't even pretend to understand. It did clear up one of Steve's suspicions, though:

Dr. Beck was a space nerd. 

Steve grinned at the thought, placing the book back in its place, mindful not to lose Chris' place.  He turned his attention to the end table beside the couch, it was stacked with papers - research it looked like - all related to space, astrophysics, and biology. Huh.

Dr. Beck was a gigantic space nerd.

On the edge of the table was a black and white picture and Steve felt his breath catch because – because that was him. Steve picked up the photograph, an old image taken during the war. Steve's war. He stood front and center in front of a group of men, and he could tell from the haggard yet overjoyed look on the men's faces it was the 107th returning from their prison camp in Austria. Steve frowned. Why did Chris have a picture of him from 1943?

"I hope you don't mind, I'm kind of into craft brews and - oh." Chris stopped opposite Steve, who still held the photograph numbly in his hands. "Oh," he repeated.

"Is this...this is weird, isn't it?" Steve asked. "This should be weird." 

Strangely, it didn't feel as odd or awkward as it maybe should've, at least not to him. Though, judging by the way Chris grimaced before taking two quick steps to Steve's side to stare down at the picture, it was exactly that awkward for Chris. 

"It's not what it looks like," Chris said quickly.

"Then what is it?" Steve questioned, trying to keep his tone light to show he wasn't exactly put off - not yet. 

Chris' gray eyes narrowed and his eyebrows pinched together as he shook his head. "Um...well...it's...this is a family token, it's um...well...it's my grandfather's unit." 

Steve blinked. "Your grandfather's unit?"

"Well, my great-grandfather..." 

Steve leaned back, eying Chris dubiously. “Your  _ great _ -grandfather’s unit? Jesus.”

"It is, honest," Chris laughed nervously, raising his hands at his sides, still holding the beer bottles. "The one-oh-seventh as he used to say."

"I remember," Steve mumbled, shocked. "Your great-grandfather was in this unit?"

"Yep, riiiiiiiiight there." Chris pointed to the man directly to Steve's left, and Steve felt as though he'd been struck by lightning. He snapped his eyes from the picture to the man beside him and back again.

"I know, like seeing double right?" Chris chuckled. 

"The resemblance is...you look...you'd think..." Steve couldn't think of the words. He remembered the man in the photograph, remembered finding him on a metal slab in deep in the Hydra factory, mumbling his name, rank, and serial number.  He remembered the other men respecting him, Steve gaining their respect in turn when he – Sergeant, wasn’t it? – followed Steve willingly.  Still, the familial resemblance was uncanny. 

"I hear it all the time," Chris shrugged, smiling fondly at the picture in Steve's hands.

"I'm sorry, I don't remember his name," Steve admitted guiltily.

"Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes," Chris supplied. "I barely remember him. He died when I was little. He was an amazing guy according to my folks; came home with all sorts of stories. He said you saved his life - that he would've followed you to hell and back."

Steve felt himself blush again. "Oh..." 

"Sorry, I didn't uh, I didn't mean to make it weird... Again," Beck said.

"No, no it's just...a different life," Steve said, resigned. This was the first real conversation Steve had about his past since he woke up and curiosity got the better of him. "What did he do after?"

"He came home with a Purple Heart pinned to his chest. Continued to serve with the SSR for a while, met my great-grandmother, and the rest is history, as they say." Chris smiled, wryly.

"For some," Steve noted, belatedly realizing he said it aloud as he felt Chris stiffen beside him.

"Right...I'm sorry -" 

"No, don't be," Steve interrupted, setting the picture down, determined to leave his past with it. He was here, in 2028; he needed to be present. That meant giving his attention to the man beside him.  The man who was currently looking at him, gray eyes brimming with guilt and Steve couldn't bear to be the cause of it. "Don't be sorry, it...it was a different life. It could've been worse," Steve said.

Chris huffed a weak laugh, incredulous. "Worse?"

"I could've died," Steve finished, shrugging nonchalantly. Chris gaped at him.

"How can you just say that? So…so…"

"Because it's the truth," Steve explained. Chris made a sound in his throat, between a groan and whine.

"Steve, that's - that’s fucked up, I'm so sorry -" 

"Stop, please. Just stop." He was tired of that word; tired of it being thrown at him every day – from everyone – he didn't want to hear it and he definitely didn't want the pity that inevitably followed, least of all from Chris.  "What's done is done, I can't change anything. Plus, it's not all bad," Steve said, raising his eyebrows and ducking his head slightly to try and catch Chris' downward gaze. "No polio is good." That got him a surprised grin, so Steve continued. "The food is better - we used to boil everything - and the Internet - so helpful."

Chris snorted and handed one of the forgotten bottles to Steve. His face looked as though it was being pulled in different directions, torn between guilt and amusement and maybe even a little surprise. 

"I have to admit, for a World War II vet who grew up during the Great Depression, you’re surprisingly optimistic," Chris murmured, smirking coyly at Steve as he brought his own beer to his lips.

Steve flashed him a wry grin and a small shrug. "It's hard not to be. Sure, the future isn't perfect, and there still aren't any flying cars like we were fucking promised, but it's...society has really come a long way. I mean space," Steve nodded to Chris' vast collection of astronomy literature, enjoying the way the doctor's cheeks flushed. "That was never really in the cards for us.  I think for a lot of people back then it was...it wasn't even a real idea. Now we've got footprints on Mars. That's pretty damn amazing."

Chris gave a curt nod, turning the bottle in his hands as he worked his jaw. After a pensive moment, he looked at Steve. "It's really refreshing hearing and seeing the world through your eyes. I'm, I guess I'm a little jaded. This is all normal for me but for you..." Chris shook his head, eyes wide in wonder. "I can't even begin to imagine. It's really amazing hearing your reactions to the present. Please, don't be offended or take this the wrong way, but I'm a little envious you get to experience so much for the first time." 

Chris’s smile was timid and weak. Steve felt his stomach knot, both from the smile and the brief thoughts that pass through Steve's mind because of it.

"Don't be. If you pay attention, you can find something new to be amazed by every day," Steve said, with growing fondness for the man beside him. Their eyes locked for a moment and Steve felt caught as if Chris could hear his thoughts. Steve could hear it then, the slightest hitch in Chris' breath and the words tumble out before he even realizes he thought them. "Thank you."

Chris' brows furrowed slightly. "For?"

"For being my friend. I-" Steve stopped and swallowed, the words thickening his tongue. "I never realized how lonely I was before. I kept myself busy with work; I guess I just assumed that that was enough.  If I'm always doing something it must mean I’m living the life I thought I’d…but now I realize I wasn't... not really. I feel like the world is a different place, a little more livable, now that…now that you're here." Steve admitted, dropping his eyes to his feet. 

He felt stupid saying it out loud, like he was turning the moment into something cheesy or overly emotional. His cheeks flushed hot. 

Chris didn't say anything, and Steve felt like the silence was mocking him.

"Sorry, sorry that was stupid...to say out loud... to you. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. I just... I don't think I could ever thank -" 

Chris bumped Steve’s shoulder with his own without looking at him. "I get it; don't worry." He sounded somber. Steve didn't know what to say to that, so he just nodded.

“So…steak?” Chris asked a minute later, his voice surprisingly chipper as he set his beer down on a coaster and walked back to the kitchen. His tone was grating to Steve as if the forced shift of conversation tangibly ran over an exposed nerve. Steve tried to swallow his disappointment; that wasn’t how he’d wanted to show his appreciation for Chris at all.

“Yeah. Sounds great.”

Chris came back to the living room, a plate of two seasoned steaks in his hand as he peeled off the plastic wrap. “I’ve been letting these marinate all day,” Chris explained.

“That sure I was going to say yes, huh?” Steve asked, his voice grasping for levity.

“I was hoping you’d say no,” Chris answered with a cocky tilt of his head. “More for me then.”

Steve laughed weakly, following Chris to the small balcony off the living room of the apartment.  It was just big enough for a modest grill and two people to comfortably stand and watch over it. 

They left the sliding door open, letting the evening breeze cool the apartment while Steve leaned against the railing and watched a couple cars drive by.

“Sorry it’s not a great view,” Chris apologized. 

“I think it's pretty nice,” Steve said, chancing a flirty glance at Chris, who watched him in turn. His look would usually drop Steve’s stomach with excitement, now it twisted with embarrassment.

“It’s traffic, which is noisy, but I kind of like it. I grew up outside Hartford, which is real quiet. The background noise here is actually pretty comforting,” Chris went on, seemingly unaware of Steve’s struggle, or maybe just kind enough to ignore it.

“Yeah. I don’t think I could live somewhere that didn’t have some sort of noise. Though I used to say I could only fall asleep to the sound of muffled arguing.” Steve laughed at Chris’ confused look. “The Dalry’s next door always argued. Day or night. Could never hear what about, but it was constant,” he explained with a half-smile.

“Mm,” Chris hummed, flipping the steaks. “That's a shame. Wonder what happened to them.”

“Married for fifty years. They died of old age about three months apart in their senior living center,” Steve said, answering Chris' innocent curiosity. Chris seemed to realize his words with Steve's explanation and gave Steve a tight smile.

“Good life, then.”

“Yeah.” Chris continued to give Steve that small, half-smile, eyes sad and pitying. Steve took a long pull of his beer. Christ. “I didn’t…sorry, I’m usually not this –“ Steve waved a hand in the air, and sighed heavily. Chris nodded curtly, then bit his lip, hesitating before closing the lid of the grill and turning to Steve. 

Steve swallowed. “Chris, I’m sorry, I…” 

Chris took the two small steps needed to fit in close to Steve, trapping him in the corner of the patio. Chris sighed again, breath shaky, and brought his hands up to Steve’s chest in one slow movement, placing them warm and solid over Steve’s shirt. Steve could tell what was coming before it happened, each movement telegraphed as Chris slid his hands up Steve’s chest to cup his jaw. They rested there a moment before he wrapped his arms around Steve’s neck and pulled him down to his shoulder. Chris squeezed tight and Steve felt as though the air had been knocked out of his lungs. Steve deflated, a heavy breath pushing out of his chest and he burrowed closer to Chris.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Chris murmured in Steve’s ear. Steve’s throat grew tight.

“Chris…” He sounded like he was begging.

“It’s selfish, I know,” Chris said, dropping his face into Steve’s shoulder. “I know you’re struggling, and I can’t even pretend to understand it or how you feel, but I -” he swallowed audibly. Steve dug his fingers into Chris’ sweater. “You’re so strong, you’ve been so brave, and I can’t believe I get to know you.. that I…”

Chris pulled away just enough that Steve had to pick his head up from Chris’ shoulder. He hoped his eyes weren’t red as he looked into Chris’ pale, assessing gaze. Warm hands settled on either side of his neck, grounding him, and when one cupped the side of Steve’s face, he couldn’t help but press into it. The gesture, uninhibited and instinctive for Steve, seemed to stir something in the man in front of him. 

Chris let out a puff of breath, speaking quickly. “I was so lost before. You have no idea. I was lost, and you -” He interrupted himself, pulling Steve’s mouth to his, fingertips pressed into his skin.

Steve whined. He hadn’t expected it, but this was…it was suddenly all he wanted, everything he’d needed, and he grasped back just as desperately, cracked open, arms wrapping around Chris’s waist and pulling him closer, filling the space between them. 

Chris’ lips were soft and warm, and the kiss tasted of something he couldn’t describe. It was entirely different to what he had imagined but tasted wholly of Chris. His tongue traced the seam of Steve’s lips, and Steve let his mouth tip open, swallowing an eager gasp from Chris that seemed to awaken something in him.  

Steve grabbed two handfuls of Chris’ sweater and backed him into the wall of Chris’s apartment before stepping close, unable to let the shortest distance between them last too long. Chris’s mouth opened in shock, lips red and shiny and bruised, already parted and asking for Steve’s lips, and how could Steve refuse? He kissed him again, reveling in the feeling of Chris’s hands dragging down Steve’s chest, his stomach, fingertips sliding underneath the hem of his shirt. Warm hands gripped the bare skin of his waist eagerly. Steve shivered and pressed closer. 

It lasted; hands and skin, lips and tongues, moans and gasps. Steve let his hands roam unabashedly, grasping and groping, and Chris returned his fervor hungrily and Steve didn’t want it to end. Then Chris held a chaste kiss a moment longer than before, and Steve knew.

“No…” He pleaded,  shaking his head.

“Steve,” Chris laughed, his voice breathy around another gasp as Steve dipped back in.

“Just…wait, just wait.” Steve kissed him again deeply, his tongue rolling languidly with Chris’s and he swore he could feel Chris shiver in his arms. He brought a hand to Chris’s cheek, which Chris covered quickly with his own as he slowly ground down on Steve’s thigh. 

Steve groaned. 

“You can’t do that,” he growled. Chris smiled. “You can’t…with your hips…and your tongue…and then just –“ Chris slowed their kisses even more, simmering now instead of boiling over, tapering off each one with a loud, wet smack of their lips that neither man could help. They both chuckled at the sound and Steve felt light, lighter than he’d felt in months. Fuck. If he was going to be honest  - in years. Lighter than air. 

He dropped his forehead onto Chris’s shoulder and laughed. “What are we doing?”

“What. Are. We doing,” Chris agreed with a laugh of his own, arms wrapping around Steve’s waist and tipping his head to rest against Steve’s. Chris sounded just as breathless as Steve and that calmed something within him.

Steve stepped away, and Chris didn’t stop him - but he didn’t let go either. 

“What now?” Chris asked.

“Now? We probably check on the steak. I think it might have burned on that grill…”

“SHIT!” Chris pulled away abruptly, opening up the hood of the grill as smoke plumed out. “Shit! Those were good steaks!” He wasn’t angry at all. In fact, he was laughing.

“So we’re ordering in then?” Steve ventured, and Chris threw him an impatient glare.

“Maybe before we figure out dinner –“ Steve couldn’t help it, he rolled his eyes “- we should discuss what just happened,” Chris said, ignoring Steve.

“You forgot to turn the heat down on the grill. What about Chinese?” He didn't believe it would work but...

“Steve…c’mon. We’re friends, we can’t just ignore...that. It’s going to bite us in the ass somehow.”

“Well, I’m not opposed to that...”

“Oh for Chrissake,” Chris muttered. “So what now?” Steve just shrugged. “I’m not trying to force you into some kind of commitment or anything –“

“I liked it,” Steve interrupted, detecting Chris' panic. Chris' eyes went wide.

“Me too,” Chris laughed. “And I wouldn't be opposed to it happening again but…I gotta know where we stand.”

Steve frowned.

“Are you looking for a one and done?" Chris continued. "Because I don’t think I can do that - not with…not with you.”

“I don’t want that," Steve mumbled, always honest if not precisely forthcoming.

“Good,” Chris nodded. “So, casual? Or do you want to take it slow? Or did you want...” he fidgeted visibly, and Steve could tell Chris was uncomfortable with just the idea of more.

“Casual’s fine. Slow is fine,” Steve hedged, not committing to either. He gave a half-shrug and as much nonchalance as he could muster. He didn’t like talking about it; it ruined the spontaneity of what had happened between them and distanced it somehow. “I’d rather not talk about it,” Steve admitted. “Can’t we just see what happens? We don’t need to figure it out right now, it’s not like we’re on any sort of timeline or anything.”

Chris nodded again, but his gaze dropped to Steve’s feet. “Ok, then.”

“Chris…”

“No, I’m fine,” Chris insisted, meeting Steve’s eyes with a smile that didn’t reach his own. “Let’s just see how it goes.”

“Ok,” Steve murmured, before pinching the elbow of Chris’s sweater and pulling him back close. He kissed him again, reveling in the softness of Chris’s lips, slack in surprise for a moment before he feels the doctor grin under his mouth. Finally, thankfully, Chris kissed him back with a soft inhale. When he pulled back, Chris was smiling, and Steve returned it a little bashfully. “Felt right.”

Chris bit his lip and turned back into the house, and Christ, it was going to be harder than Steve thought to not reach out, pull Chris close every time.

“Ok…so, Chinese?"


	6. Chapter 6

Steve was already well into his morning run by the time Sam arrived. He enjoyed running with the older man (well, running by him at least) and would even slow his sprint down to a leisurely jog to chat with him sometimes. Part of him wants to do that today, wants to ask questions and get advice and just connect with someone safe, a friend outside work, away from SHIELD. 

Sam was the first person Steve had met that hadn't wanted something from him. Fresh from the ice, hollow-eyed and terrified and trying to not show it, they had bumped into each other on front steps of their apartment building. Steve still regrets the less than stellar impression he'd made. He hadn't meant to, he was just focused and trying to wrap his head around everything he'd learned in his debrief that morning. His first meeting with Director Natasha "call me Nat unless I'm yelling at you" Romanoff and the resulting information dump had left him reeling. Being told no, he would not be staying in the barracks with the trainee agents, he'd be staying in the ridiculously large and criminally expensive apartment SHIELD had secured for him was almost worse. Why let him cling to something routine, something familiar when he could be shut away on his own under the guise of ‘privacy’ instead?

So there he was - lost and alone in an unfamiliar city, lifetimes away from home, clutching shiny new keys in one hand, a nearly empty duffle in the other, and no idea what he was meant to do now. What was someone supposed to do when they didn’t even own their own Jockeys?

He hadn't meant to grunt at the guy who had uttered a polite "excuse me," especially since he was the one blocking the front door. Thankfully, Sam hadn't taken it personally. He’d asked if Steve was okay and if he needed help with anything. Steve, manners belatedly remembered, apologized and insisted on carrying Sam's groceries the rest of the way up to his apartment. 

Sam liked to say Steve sweet-talked his way in the door, half-swooning with apologies, begging for forgiveness. Steve liked to offer to remind Sam what running really looked like when that kind of crap wormed its way into the conversation.

Beyond his good humor, Steve also appreciated Sam's wisdom (even if using that term made the man strut like a middle-aged peacock) and patience. Sam knew when he could push and when he shouldn't, and he could to let Steve's abrupt changes in subject ride without batting an eye. 

Unlike Chris.

Steve's face hardened and he pushed himself to run even faster. No, he wouldn't be slowing down to chat with Sam today. 

Two hours later, shirt soaked with sweat and face red from exertion, Steve stumbled to a stop next to the bench Sam was lounging on. He bent over, hands braced on his knees, chest heaving. 

“I was gonna ask how you’re doing, but I’m thinkin’ that’s a pretty dumb question right now.”

Steve straightened and wiped his cheek on his shoulder before he looked down at Sam. He took the proffered bottle of water, finished it off in four long pulls, and concentrated very carefully on screwing the cap back on.

“So it’s like that, huh?”

“Don’t know what you mean, Sam,” he replied, forcing himself to breath evenly, be casual.

Casual. Steve’s lip curled in a sneer.

“Hey man, pretty sure that water bottle didn’t just insult your mama. You can stop crushing it now.” Sam aimed his brightest smile at Steve and patted the bench next to him. “C’mon, my legs are shaking with exhaustion just looking at you. I know, I know,” his head rocked side to side. “Super serum, accelerated healing, blah fucking blah.” Sam pointed at the bench, all good humor sliding off his face. “Sit.”

Steve sat. 

He tipped his head back, eyes closed, enjoying the light morning breeze cooling his skin.

“So...”

He grunted, kept his eyes closed. It was enough that he was sitting here; he didn’t need to talk. 

Except, the longer Sam let the silence stretched between them, the twitchier Steve became. He drew in a measured breath, let it out slowly, opened his eyes to stare at the endless blue sky. He could see Sam studying him in his peripheral. 

“You know your 'I'm a counselor and I’m listening’ routine doesn’t work on me,” Steve said pleasantly.

Sam snorted but otherwise kept quiet, still just watching.

“You had any coffee yet?” Steve tried.

Sam stared.

“How’s Bea? You didn’t bring her today.”

No response.

“Is she still pouting over that new diet the vet put her on- refusing to go on her morning walks?”

Nothing.

“Christ.  _ What _ Sam?” Steve snapped, bringing his head down to glare at his friend.

“Hi, there!” Sam sang cheerfully. “You finally gonna look at me like an adult?”

“Y’know, Wilson-“

Sam shook his head. “Nope. First names only. Your rules. I don’t call you Cap; you don’t call me Wilson.”

Steve growled and crumpled the now nearly unrecognizable bottle in his hand. Sam gave him an unimpressed stare.

“Steve, you stopped running ’til you dropped months ago. You were smiling. Joking. Not…” Sam gestured to all of Steve, “whatever this is. What the hell’s goin’ on?”

Steve shook his head and twisted to throw the remains of the plastic bottle into a nearby recycling bin. “Nothin’, Sam. I’m just the same as I’ve always been.”

“That’s what’s worrying me,” Sam sighed. “Look, man, we’re friends. I know some subjects are no fly zones for you -” he paused searching Steve’s face, “but you also have stuff you do talk about. You haven’t been this quiet since we started hangin’ out. So tell me,” he leaned forward, catching Steve’s gaze. “what’s goin’ on?”

Steve groaned and rubbed his face. “Why do I put up with you?”

“Because I put up with you first.”

“That wasn't very smart of you.” Steve’s hands dropped to the bench seat, and he gripped hard enough to hear a warning creak from the wood. “Why does everyone want me to talk all the time? Why do I have to explain myself, discuss my feelings, my intentions?” he sneered.

Sam blinked and sat back. “Romanoff? Or Beck?”

Steve winced.

“Beck, then.” Sam nodded and looked around, watching businessmen hustle by and tourists too busy taking pictures with their phones to see anything around them. “So I’m gonna go out on a limb and guess your usual drinks date didn’t go well last night.”

“They’re not dates,” Steve grumbled and his lips twisted. “Well, maybe they were.”

Sam hummed. “You two break up?”

Steve couldn’t stop the rough laugh the thought forced from his throat. “Not even close.” He sighed, “but we aren’t exactly dating either.”

“You’re not gonna get out of telling me the whole story by arguing semantics, brother. Spill it.”

Steve rubbed his eyes again. “I was back late from an assignment. By the time I wrapped up the usual post-op rehash with Nat, I thought he’d already left for the day.” A smile crept into his voice. “He was waiting for me. Said he wanted to do something different and invited me to his place for dinner.”

“That’s great!” Sam exclaimed. “You’ve been trying to ask him out properly for ages. I’m glad one of you got your balls out of your back pocket and made a damn move.” Sam’s grin faded at the dark look that flickered over Steve’s face. “No balls out of back pockets?”

“Balls were definitely in play.” Steve turned a wry smirk on his friend. “Blue ones, at least.” 

Sam groaned. “Dude, I will never get used to hearin’ you talk like that.”

“I’ll never get used to a fifty-year-old calling me dude,” Steve sassed back.

“Man, I'm not fifty for another month.”

“Three weeks and two days.”

“Aw, I didn't know you cared, Stevie.”

Steve’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll buy you a walker for your birthday,” he threatened.

“Nah,” Sam flicked a dismissive wave. “Then you’d look bad lapping me around the monuments. Can’t tarnish that good image of yours,” he teased with mock sympathy.

“Bet I could get Stark to put rockets on it or somethin’ - finally make it a real competition.”

Sam tilted his head, considering. “I’d probably say yes.” He nudged Steve. “I’m supposed to be the responsible adult here.” 

“Adult, sure. Responsible…” Steve’s face scrunched up. “Not sure that’s ever applied to you.” He let himself rock slightly to the side when Sam shoved his shoulder harder. 

“You know you can’t distract me, Steve. Tell me about your blue balls.” He paused. “Not literally. Please.”

Steve snorted and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees and stare at the concrete between his shoes. “It was going really well. Least I thought it was.” His right foot started tapping a nervous rhythm. “He kissed me, Sam. Then I kissed him, and he kissed me, and it was…”

“Good?”

“Incendiary,” Steve replied, remembering laughing over the burned steaks. “Amazing.” 

God, he could still taste Chris, could still feel those strong, slender hands pushing through his hair and gripping his neck, could still imagine the drag of Chris’s hard cock along his thigh. 

He squeezed his eyes closed. “Then…then he just backed off. Wanted to stop. And that’s fine!” Steve looked over, eyes pleading for his friend to understand. “I didn’t expect any-” Steve cut himself off and chewed on his lip.

Sam waited a minute. “And?” he prompted.

Steve dropped his head down and gripped his hands together. “He wants… he asked where we stood. What I’m looking for. Neither of us-,” he ground the knuckles of his laced fingers into his forehead. “One night wasn’t gonna be enough, for either of us. But then he said…casual.”

Sam frowned. “Casual? Like…friends with sexy benefits?”

Steve’s hands unfolded and plunged into his damp hair, pushing it away from his face before dropping to his lap. He slouched against the backrest. “I guess? He also mentioned taking things slow. Slow is fine. Good! Great, even. I like slow.”

“Slow can be very good,” Sam agreed. “But you don’t like casual?” More a statement than a question. “Steve, have you…Look, don't take this the wrong way but...what’s your relationship history?”

“You mean, have I had any and how long did they last?” He huffed at Sam’s sheepish expression. “For the night? Enough. Didn’t even know their last name sometimes. Longer?” Steve shrugged. “You couldn’t be open, out, back then. You had a fella, you kept it quiet. Easier t’just find someone friendly for an hour or two. Safer, usually.” Steve stared into the distance, seeing things decades, almost a century, away. “Dames…Most of ‘em don’t- didn’t want a guy they might step on.”

Sam hesitated, knew he had to tread carefully, especially when Steve let the Brooklyn slip into his tone. “What about Carter?”

Steve laughed hollowly. “Agent Carter.” He shook his head. “Timing was wrong.” 

Truth be told, he was grateful that he and Peggy were never able to have the life he had once so hoped for. The white picket fence and children; the ideal family. She was able to do so much more than she might have allowed herself if Steve survived with her. Not that he thought Peggy would’ve made sacrifices on his account, not with her career. Still, he couldn’t help the pull in his heart knowing that had he landed the Valkyrie instead of crashing it he could have weighed Peggy down instead of letting her rise as she was clearly so destined to do.

“…Steve,” Sam murmured.

He shook himself, brushed off the memories of red lipstick, the scent of rose water and leather and gun oil. Soft curls and  a warm laugh. “Guess it just wasn’t meant to be.” Steve inhaled and stood up. “Point is. I’m not- casual isn’t-“ Steve paced the length bench. “S’better’n nothin’, right? Get this- this tension between us worked out.” Steve stopped in front of Sam. “It’s for the best, right? Why fuck up a good thing when we can just stay friends and fuck each other instead.”

Sam stood, ignored the crack in his knee. “Steve, that’s not-“

“We should get going.” Steve started to walk away, heading in the direction of their building. “Hey, Carmen still visiting her sister, right? Wanna pick up our Cary Grant marathon from last weekend?” Steve pinched the material of his shirt and tugged it away from his chest. “I need a shower too. What d’you want for movie food? Italian? Or we can order from that French bistro you like.”

Sam sighed. Steve’s walls were back up and further attempts to talk about anything related to Dr. Beck would no doubt either be ignored or actively, and loudly, shut down. “Bistro. Start with North by Northwest or Charade?”

Steve blinked away the pressure behind his eyes, ridiculously grateful that Sam rolled right along with the completely unsubtle shift in conversation. “Charade. You said it was funny. I’ll order, and you can pick it up while you take Bea out for a walk.”

Sam nodded and clapped Steve on the back. “Sure thing, man.” 

They were silent the rest of the way home.


	7. Chapter 7

**Dr. Bossy:** _Drinks tonight? Or are you still busy with grunt work?_

Steve’s hands hesitated over the screen of his phone.  It should be a simple answer; a week ago it would’ve been yes, maybe even a hell yes since he just got back from a mission, but now? 

Truth be told, he’d been avoiding Chris ever since their kiss. Well, not since their  _ kiss _ , more like the conversation  _ after _ the kiss. It wasn’t on purpose, or done maliciously; just…he needed to think. He needed to brace himself for something that wasn’t what he’d expected.

‘ _ Casual _ ,’ Chris had said, and the word sank in Steve’s gut like a stone.  

Well, Steve did want sex. Steve  _ liked _ sex. Steve thought sex with  _ Chris _ sounded  _ amazing _ – but casual sex? No-strings-attached sex? Anyone else and Steve would’ve been happy, enthusiastically so, but Chris? He wasn’t so sure he wanted casual with Chris.

Steve knew, of course, that the idea of a relationship with him didn’t appeal to Chris right now - he knew that. Naively, though, Steve had hoped. Still, Chris hadn’t given any indication that he wanted more with Steve, just agreeing to whatever Steve had wanted to do, whatever Steve had planned.

That being said, was ‘drinks’ code for something? Sam had once told him a story about a miscommunicated ‘booty call’. Is that what this was – a booty call? He could just ask, of course, but Sam isn’t really young anymore. Maybe he’s not up to date on current slang and phrases, no matter how much he insisted he was still ‘hip’.  _ Maybe _ Chris really did just want drinks. It had been a while since they had seen one another, what with Steve conveniently leaving for a last minute mission shortly after Chris had (tried to) make him dinner. 

Steve shook his head – he was being ridiculous.

At worst, it was just drinks. Steve liked drinks.

At  _ best _ , it was sex! Steve  _ liked _ sex. Steve liked sex more than drinks.

But Steve liked Chris’ friendship more than sex.

“Why is this happening?” Steve groaned aloud, dropping his head. Was he overthinking this? Steve squeezed his phone tightly for a moment before loosening his fingers and calming his nerves somewhat. 

‘ _ Sounds good. Where? _ ’ He tapped. The answer was almost immediate.

**Dr. Bossy:** _Where?_

 **Dr. Bossy:** _Really???_

 **Dr. Bossy:** _The usual haha._

The churning in Steve’s stomach calmed, and he exhaled a shaky breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding.  _ Ok, so it’s not starting at Chris’ place, that’s a good sign. _

Steve was definitely overthinking this.

 

* * *

The bar was busy, busier than usual. Rowdy and loud in a way Steve hadn’t expected - and smoky despite the fact that no one seemed to smoke anymore. Steve found Chris in a corner booth, somewhat secluded from the rambunctious boys at the bar.

“Sorry,” Chris said without greeting, though his eager smile was enough. “Bar was full.” He scooted toward the wall in invitation.

“S’alright,” Steve grinned back. He slipped his jacket off his shoulders and debated a moment before tossing it onto the opposite bench and sliding in next to Chris. Steve knocked on the wood, rapping his knuckles into a nervous tune, an old wartime habit. They sat there for a moment, staring awkwardly at each other before Steve dropped his gaze to where Chris’ clavicle was peeking out from the top the white Henley he was wearing. His gaze then moved to Chris’ hands, his fingers, before quickly averting his eyes to the table, the seat behind them – that picture hanging on the wall beside them seemed terribly interesting –

“Steve?” Chris asked with a nervous chuckle. “You alright?”

“Fine,” Steve said with a cough, clearing his throat. “Just…long day.”

Chris watched him for a moment, his mouth slack as his tongue slid along his teeth.  It wasn’t sexual, or at least, Steve didn’t think it was intended to be, but it got his mind a little dirty anyway…didn’t take much anymore apparently. 

“Relax, Steve,” Chris laughed.

“What?”

“You’re going to give yourself an aneurysm if you think about this any harder, and there won’t be anything I can do but pronounce you.”

Steve bristled to cover the smile. “Just nervous I guess.”

“Why?” Chris asked, hunching his shoulders up to his ears. “There’s no pressure in this Steve. It’s drinks.”

Steve blurted it out before he could even think it through. “So this isn’t a booty call?”

Chris stared at him, brows pinched but mouth open in a smile, disbelieving. “A  _ what _ ?”

“Oh no,” Steve groaned, scrubbing his hands over his face. “Forget that I said that.”

“Not a chance.” Chris cracked up. “Did you really just use the words ‘booty call’?”

“Oh God…”

“What  _ year _ is it?” Chris asked, pulling out his cell phone and making a show of checking the date. “Right, it’s  _ 2028 _ .”

“Be nice to me; I’m old. I’m not hip to the baloney or what-the-fuck-ever you kids’re talkin’ nowadays,” Steve grumbled exaggeratedly.  

Chris laughed again. “What? Who  _ are  _ you?” Chris asked, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he dropped his head to the side. Steve felt his heart skip a couple beats right in his chest.

“I’m old, and I’m tired, and I just got my ass kicked by twenty guys in a fucking elevator. Buy me a drink,” Steve ordered, flicking the drink specials placard at Chris.

“Sure thing, Cap,” Chris said, eyeing Steve in a way that left Steve feeling a little light headed as he waved the waitress over. 

 

* * *

“--And then he started a fucking  _ monologue _ just like in all those bad movies you guys have got nowadays –“

“Hey!”

“And I just, Chris, I just had to fucking drop-kick him in the head. Guy went down like a ton of bricks. It was beautiful.”

Chris guffawed, his laugh loud and almost booming, dropping his head back.  Steve was just as bad, reaching a hand out to grab Chris’ shoulder before he fell out of the booth, and  _ when did they get so close together _ ? They were practically sitting on top of one another now.

It had been nothing but easy laughs throughout the evening, and, surprisingly, it had nothing to do with the liquor. Steve still couldn’t get drunk, and Chris was sipping on his third jack and coke in as many hours. Chris keeled over, resting his head on the table as his laughs tapered down to chuckles, and Steve kept his hand on Chris’ shoulder, glued to the little bit of warm contact his index finger and thumb had on Chris’ skin at his neck. Chris rolled his forehead on the table and looked up at Steve, eyes soft and a little damp from tears.

“That  _ was _ a shit mission; makes me glad I’m not in the field.”

Steve furrowed his eyebrows. “You thought about it?”

Chris shrugged, and the motion caused Steve’s hand to drop between the two men. “Sure, who wouldn’t. Field work, spy stuff; it’s exciting, at least from afar.”

“You ever train for it?”

Chris shook his head, raising it slightly off the table. “Nah. I mean, I’m not soft or anything, I can take a punch, and I may have gotten into a fight or two –“

“Chris!” Steve mocked a gasp.

Chris grinned. “—But I never really seriously considered it, no.”

“Just two?”

“Huh?”

“Just two fights?” Steve asked, taking a sip of his whiskey.

“I grew up in Connecticut, Steve. Not really the school of hard knocks out in suburbia.”

Steve shrugged, “I guess. Can you throw a punch? I know you said you can take it –“ Chris quirked a brow, hiding a smirk behind a fist and what was –  _ Oh… _

“Yeah I can take it.”

“But can you give it too?” Steve asked, his voice surprisingly steady.

Chris shrugged, his teeth sinking into his lip. “Sure, either or. Of course, if we’re actually talking about throwing punches, I’d much rather give the whoopin’ than take,” Chris clarified. Steve chuckled.

“Makes sense, but you look like you’ve spent a little too much time in the lab, Chris.

“What?” Chris asked sitting up straight and running his hands down his chest.  Steve couldn’t help but let his eyes follow the trail Chris’ hands led. 

“Not like that,” Steve scolded in understanding and grabbing Chris’ bicep. “Flex.”

“Nah,” Chris said, a little color flushing his cheeks as he pulled back his arm. “I’m not comparing muscles to Captain-fucking-America. I’ll keep my dignity, thank you.”

“No judgment. Chemically enhanced remember? My biceps were probably as big as your wrists before the serum.”

Chris tried to bite back a smile, but he gave in without any real fight, rolling his eyes exaggeratedly and flexing his left bicep. Steve gave a squeeze and didn’t try to hide his shock that,  _ actually _ , Chris had a pretty impressive bicep for a doctor.

“Damn straight  _ for a doctor _ ,” Chris laughed, and Steve really needed to stop muttering things aloud. “I’ve been working out.”

“Any particular reason?” Steve asked. He wasn’t so full of himself to think it was for him, but he couldn’t help but be curious.

Chris shrugged. “When you work for SHIELD people expect you to be fucking Jason Bourne or some secret assassin. I didn’t fit the part,” Chris smirked self-deprecatingly. “Figured it was a good idea. Plus, healthy body, long life, blah blah blah.”

“You’re a doctor; you should be all for that,” Steve chuckled.

“Still sucks to work out whether you’re a doctor or not,” Chris said, rolling his eyes.

“Well, why don’t you let me train you,” Steve offered, genuine and eager to help.

“No. No, no, no, I’ve seen what you do to the new guys,” Chris teased.

“That was  _ one _ recruit. I haven’t knocked out any of them since!” Steve insisted.

“I get plenty of training at the gym,” Chris said with a shake of his head. He's still smiling, though.

“I think you’d be surprised what I can teach you,” Steve said, voice rough, not even bothering to hide his blatant intentions. 

Judging by the way Chris’s eyes dropped to Steve’s mouth as he spoke the words, he didn’t think the good doctor minded.

 

* * *

They’d barely made it inside when Steve found himself crowded back against the door. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. What’re you –?”

“You know,” Chris murmured, his breath warm across Steve’s lips a second before covering Steve’s with his own. Steve felt himself deflate, a tension within him melting that he hadn’t even realized he’d been carrying until he felt Chris’ hungry lips bite at his own. 

“You knew what was going to happen the minute you invited me up for  _ coffee _ ,” Chris growled. His hands slid underneath Steve’s jacket, slipping the heavy leather off his shoulders and down his arms to fall to the floor. Steve groaned at the touch, at the cool shift of air over his flushed skin, at the warmth of Chris’ hands exploring his body in a way not unlike they had before. 

 

He  _ had _ invited Chris up for coffee - hand to God. The bar was within walking distance to Steve’s apartment, but Chris’s place was still a bit of a drive away. “Sober up here,” Steve had offered as they climbed the stairs, “you shouldn’t drive.”

“I’m not even drunk!” Chris had insisted, smiling devilishly. Somewhere in Steve’s blood-drained brain, he knew that; Chris had only a few drinks, sipping them slowly with water in between. He may be a little buzzed now, having downed the rest of his whiskey quickly when Steve quirked a flirty brow, but he wasn’t drunk now by any means. And he’d followed Steve up to his place, hands in his pockets - the perfect gentleman - and Steve hadn’t even given it a thought until Chris had him pressed up against his door.

“I didn’t know,” Steve chuckled, his voice already sounding hoarse. “But I did  _ hope _ .” 

That earned him a grin, wide and catlike before Chris took a step back and peeled off his own shirt and throwing it away. Steve groaned at the site of Chris’ exposed skin, dropping his head back against the door as a hand instinctively reached for the firming bulge in his pants, giving himself a squeeze. “Fuck yeah, I really hoped –“

Chris growled, his chest heaving before he lunged forward, pushing Steve into the door again with a loud thud, hands palming him all over. “Stop hopin’ and start livin’, Steve,” Chris grinned, and Steve couldn't help but groan again while his hands fumbled between them at Chris’ belt buckle, his mouth slack with the effort as Chris licked into it. Chris mewled, a helpless breathy little sound whenever Steve’s knuckles brushed the tight fabric over his cock and - fucking  _ finally _ \- Steve had the clasp undone, and Chris’s button popped. His hands palmed over Chris’ hips, and his fingers dipped beneath the waistband, spread back over his ass, squeezing heavy handfuls. 

Chris moaned, ducking to mouth at Steve’s throat, nipping the sensitive skin there.

“Jesus,” Steve heard himself say, tipping his head to the side and giving Chris access to suck at his skin. “Christ, Chris…” He rolled his hips, dragging his cock along Chris’ hip, reveling in the friction. Chris’ lips found his again, hungry as ever while his hips continued to grind back with just as much need along Steve’s.  

They breathed each other in and just kissed, lips pressing hard enough to bruise, the floodgates having opened and it’s not as awkward as Steve had thought it’d be. Instead, it felt like the only thing Steve should be doing now. Chris was all Steve could think about, the only tangible thing in this moment. The world could be exploding around them and he didn’t think he’d even notice, couldn't look away from him if he tried. His mouth nipped and bit, his tongue stroked over Chris’ lips, slid along his own. His hands gripped firmly at Chris’ skin, the firmness of his ass and pressed the man harder against himself, seeking friction and not finding it nearly enough. 

One long, hard, and heavy drag of Steve’s cock along Chris’ finally had the other man moaning high in his throat, bordering a whine.

“Fuck this, I  _ can’t _ –“ 

Steve pulled away quickly, instantly sobered. “I’m sorry!” he said quickly, palms up. But instead of looking angry or put out, Chris dropped heavily to his knees, his fingers quickly undoing Steve’s belt and his jeans and pulling them down hard to his thighs.

“Steve,  _ oh _ …oh  _ Steve _ ,” Chris chuckled, shaking his head and his eyes bright as he looked up at Steve. “ _ Jesus _ \- is everything about you fucking perfection?”

Steve didn’t even have time to think when Chris swallowed him down to the hilt with a loud and filthy moan. “Oh,” Steve groaned, dropping his head back against the door. “Oh…fuck…don’t –  _ don’t stop _ . Christ.” 

Chris moaned again lewdly, sucking back to the head and taking Steve in fully again and Steve swore, doing everything he could, going so far as picturing Uncle Sam in nothing but stars and stripes to stop himself from coming right then and there. Chris pulled off of Steve with an ostentatious pop, smirking as he brought a hand to Steve’s cock, stroking him firmly before ducking back close and dragging his tongue along one side, slow and filthy, eyes never leaving Steve’s.

_ Well shit. _

Steve dropped down to his knees with a loud crack,  _ might feel that later _ , and pushed Chris onto his back, the other man falling back easily with a breathy laugh.

“Finally got your head working, Steve?”

“One of ‘em,” Steve growled as he pulled Chris out of his own jeans.

“Fucking finally,” Chris breathed, his eyes rolling back as Steve pumped his hard cock. Steve didn’t linger, though, crawling over Chris and finding his lips again. Steve dropped to his forearms, seeking as much skin to skin contact as he could. Chris sucked in a sharp breath as his cock found the soft skin of Steve’s hip and Steve found similar friction. They began to rock, grinding on each other.

Steve pressed his forehead to Chris’ as he dragged their cocks together, his body pressed against Chris’s everywhere he could. He kissed him breathlessly, mind blank. His impulses making him stupid as he pressed incessant, doting kisses to Chris’ lips, his cheeks, his eyelids. He nipped at his jaw before finally finding the throbbing pulse point of his neck and sucking a hard bruise there while Chris writhed and moaned beneath him, burning for it - dying for it.

Their skin was hot and slick against one another’s, and it’d be so easy, Steve had thought, to kick Chris’ legs open, to suck on his own fingers and press one inside, feel the heat of him. Steve would bet he’s so hot inside, so soft, but –

He came, hard and breathless across Chris' stomach. A groan pulled out of him as Chris moaned beneath him, hands on Steve’s ass, pulling him impossibly closer and coming too, bringing them both through it. Steve was thankful then; he’d been so lost in his own thoughts, in the possibilities of Chris’ body, he hadn’t even realized how close he was, how close they both were.

“Christ,” Steve moaned, dropping his sweaty forehead to Chris’s right shoulder, and Chris laughed.

“Close, it’s Chris.”

“Nooooo…” Steve whined, rolling off Chris with an unforgiving push. “Nooooo, don’t ruin it. God.”

Chris laughed, hard and breathless and even a little stupid, his hand finding his forehead and pushing some of the sweaty curls back.  “Sorry. Let me –“ Chris stretched his toes out, grabbing his discarded shirt and pulling it to himself, wiping away their mess from his stomach.

“Animal,” Steve joked, and Chris smirked at him.

“Says you. I feel like I’ve been mauled,” Chris groaned, his hand coming up to his neck.

“Shit.” Steve rolled half onto his belly, his chest falling onto Chris’s shoulder as he looked at the bright red hickey on Chris’ neck. “Shit. Shit, shit, shit… I’m sorry that’s…that’s not going anywhere.” He didn’t expect the almost feral smile Chris gave him.

“Good thing it’s chilly outside, and I look good in scarves,” Chris smirked before tossing the shirt aside and pushing Steve onto his back, rolling over to sprawl half across Steve’s chest. “How about I give you a matching one?”

Steve smiled lazily, fingers stroking down Chris’ spine, calling up shivers and a drawing out a beautiful moan. “It won’t last more than a couple of hours.”

Chris dipped his head to nibble at Steve’s lips. “I’m one hundred percent willing to test that hypothesis. Repeatedly.”

Steve shuddered and clutched Chris closer. “Yeah?”

He grinned down at Steve. “Definitely. For science.”


	8. Chapter 8

Steve woke as he always did. The sudden rush into consciousness caused his heart to trip over itself and his muscles tightened, ready to fight or defend. Same thing, every morning since the day he was injected with Erskine’s serum. 

Just as quickly, he settled, knowing he was safe in his own home. The familiar scents of detergent from his sheets, the resin and sawdust he’d used to fill the floorboards when he moved in helped calm his mind and body. 

He dreaded the weather turning cold, when the radiator would knock as the metal expanded, sounding like far-off gunfire, and the taste of rain and snow mixed with wet earth filling the air, reminding him of fox holes and battlefields. He’d already spent too many nights tearing himself from nightmares of cold blue energy bolts brushing past him and striking a fellow soldier. Of Hydra tanks rolling through villages to the tune of terrorized screams. Of the sucking sounds of mud mixing with blood and bile and the stench of bodies piled together in pits overpowering everything else. He didn’t know what winter smelled like here, in D.C, in the future, but he prayed it would be different enough to keep those terrors confined to his dreams.

A soft rustling pulled him from the dark memories of his not-so-distant past. He inhaled sharply, blinked at the ceiling once more and turned his head. 

He couldn’t stop the smile pulling at his lips. 

Chris lay on his side facing Steve, the blankets pulled up to his ear and covering his mouth and chin. His brow was smooth as he nestled into the pillow, the only movement his eyes flickering slightly under his lids. Sometime during the night, Chris had managed to steal the bedding and cocoon himself in downy warmth, leaving Steve just a corner of the top sheet to drape over his pelvis and thighs. One of Chris’s hands had worked free and was flung out over Steve’s chest. His fingers were cold, curled, and slightly heavy with sleep.

Steve carefully cradled his hand over Chris’s, pressed it lightly into his skin, warming it and committing the feeling to memory. As much as he wanted to lie there until Chris woke up, he knew he would soon grow restless. He lifted his head and brought Chris’ hand up, kissing his fingertips and palm before tucking it safely under the blankets. He leaned up on an elbow and stared at his companion a moment longer, letting the peace of the moment settle over him before he brushed a light kiss on Chris’ forehead. 

He smiled and carefully rose from the bed, tiptoeing to the bureau standing in the corner near the bedroom door, taking care to step lightly over the creaky boards. He eased the top drawer open, pulled out a pair of boxer briefs and slipped them on. He glanced back once more at Chris, made sure he was still deeply asleep, and walked out, closing the door softly behind him.

Resisting the absurd urge to whistle, Steve stepped into the open living room and smiled at the trail of clothing curving from entryway. He gathered each item up and walked back to the living room. He stared at the pile of fabric in his arms - his jeans, Chris’s boxers, a white undershirt that could honestly belong to either of them (though, judging by the stains, was likely Chris’s).  _ Needs to be washed before he can wear it again. I’ll throw it in the next load. _

Steve sat on the couch, surprised by an unexpected swooping feeling in his stomach. The single hard pound of his heart before it evened into its normal rhythm was new and slightly uncomfortable.  Realistically, Steve knew it was slightly ridiculous to wish this was his usual morning routine - that this was Chris’ home as well, their laundry always mixed up, socks and shirts and soft sweaters shared without a thought. The simple domesticity of overfull dresser drawers and bickering over whose turn it was to wash clothes; jokes about how their machine was better than the one in the basement, all embedded in comfort and daily life was a bright lure Steve tried to not crave.

He shook his head and laughed.  _ Don’t get ahead of yourself, Rogers. _

He chucked the soiled shirt into the basket next to the bedroom door and folded the small pile of remaining clothing, barely resisted bringing Chris’s sweater up to his nose to take in the scent of his cologne and soap because that was just a shade too creepy for seven in the morning. 

Steve left the neat stack of shirts and jeans on the cushion and rounded the central pillar with its inlaid bookshelves, stepping into the kitchen. Coffee may not be a necessary part of Steve’s wake-up ritual, but he knew it was an essential component to getting Chris’ brain engaged. Regardless, he enjoyed the bitter taste, the heat that spread over his tongue and down his throat. It reminded him of both good and bad times - the burned scent of canteens heating grounds and water over a fire in a forest, his mother clutching a chipped mug and smiling at him from across a table, Peggy’s good-natured mutterings about the superior virtues of tea while cheerfully pouring another cup of black sludge in an underground bunker.

He was glad he hadn’t let Natasha talk him into regular visits to a SHIELD counselor. Those memories didn’t hurt as much as they could and he didn’t feel as unbalanced as he had when they’d first brought him out of the ice. Even if they were painful, they were his, private and cherished, not grist for a shrink to pick him apart with. 

Steve smiled as he filled the carafe with water, wondering what she’d say if he told her Chris was better for him than any psychiatrist. Hell, she probably knew already. Might’ve been why she kept sending him to medical to begin with. He certainly wouldn’t put it past her. 

Once the darkly roasted beans were ground and tipped into the filter, he flipped the machine on and once more thanked modern conveniences. He shuffled a few steps over to cut a few slices of bread from the loaf on the counter and dropped them in the toaster before moving on to peer in the fridge. He was bent over, trying to decide if Chris would prefer blackberry preserves or orange marmalade when a hand was suddenly cupping his backside. He yelped and shot upright, smacking his head on the freezer door in the process. He rubbed at the flash of pain and turned his glare on Chris.

“What the hell. Didn’t anyone teach you it’s rude to sneak up and goose unsuspecting fellas?”

Chris’ laughter was muffled in the blanket he was wrapped in. Steve’s frown melted into a fond smile, charmed by the picture before him. Sleep ruffled and drowsy-eyed, Chris looked soft and warm, with his smile and the offending hand now hidden behind dark green cotton and fluffy down. 

“Too perfect an opportunity to pass up,” Chris mumbled and lifted his chin free, a lazy grin curling his mouth invitingly. “’S your fault, not hearing me open the door and stumble up behind you. I wasn’t exactly stealthy.” His head cocked to the side. “Do your super senses not work at home?”

Steve huffed and turned back to the fridge, grabbed the jar of preserves, and closed the door. “I didn’t know I needed to be on high alert in my own kitchen.” 

“Only when you’re in your skivvies and bent over,” Chris rumbled. He reached out to pat a pert butt cheek. “Like I said, too tempting.”

Steve felt his ears start to warm and busied himself arranging warm toast on plates, pulling mugs from the cabinet. It was strange, he should have heard Chris moving around. He was either deeper in his thoughts than usual or… _ or it’s like he belongs here _ .

Steve tried to ignore the swelling feeling of ‘right’ and ‘home’ when Chris collapsed against his back and wrapped his arms, along with the blanket, around Steve’s waist. The line of heat down his body made him shudder slightly even as he leaned back into Chris, smiling when he felt lips brush against his neck. 

“Good morning,” Chris murmured into his skin.

“Morning,” Steve replied, turned his head to press a kiss to Chris’ temple. “Grab the half and half?”

“Don’t wanna move.” Chris burrowed further into Steve’s body and tightened his arms around Steve’s middle. “It’s cold in here.” 

Steve smiled and nosed into sleep warmed hair. “I’ll close the windows at night from now on.” He froze, worried he sounded too eager, too invested, too everything. 

“Thanks, babe,” Chris mumbled before he propped his chin on Steve’s shoulder, peering at him with a tired smile.

Steve’s muscles unlocked and melted at the unthinking pet name. He mentally shook himself, determined to not look at it too closely. Instead, he rolled his eyes and started the awkward shuffle to the fridge, amused by Chris burying his face into Steve’s neck and grumbling as he moved with Steve, clearly unwilling to let go. They must have looked ridiculous, but the weightless feeling in his chest overrode any objection to having his movements restricted. 

“Here.” He held a cup of steaming coffee up near his shoulder. The promise of caffeine finally pulled Chris’ head up. “More cream than coffee, no sugar, a dash of cinnamon.” Steve pulled away enough to turn around and handed over the mug, smiled at the look of bliss that spread over Chris’s face as he inhaled the scent lacing the steaming liquid. His hand dropped to stroke a hip through the quilt that was covering far too much skin. “I didn’t have any nutmeg, sorry.”

Chris grinned up at him and shifted into the muted caress. “You know how I like my coffee?” 

Steve flushed lightly. “I notice details.”

Chris’s hips nudged his own when Chris bent slightly back, one hand still around Steve’s waist. Steve’s gaze dropped to the expanse of skin bared and his mouth dropped open, just a bit, his breathing sped up ever so slightly. His free hand lifted, almost without permission, and he trailed his fingers over the smattering of love bites left behind from the night before. His touch wandered up, brushing over a nipple, traced the hollow of a clavicle, up to the dark, angry looking bruise on Chris’ throat. He pressed against it lightly, eyes darkening when Chris shivered at the tender pain. 

Chris moaned low and deep and Steve felt his cock begin to stir against his thigh. He sucked in a breath, letting his touch linger on the mark. Chris leaned into him, reaching around to set the mug on the counter before pulling the blanket up around their shoulders.

“Everything alright, Captain?”

Steve choked back a moan. “Please don’t call me that when you’re naked in my arms.”

Chris leaned forward, pushing into his chest, hips starting to grind into Steve’s in a lazy rhythm. “Yes, sir,” Chris whispered, lips brushing Steve’s ear. 

Steve’s body jolted and his fingers spasmed against Chris’ throat. “You,” Steve turned his head and kissed a stubbled cheek, “are a menace.” He pulled away and retrieved the abandoned mug. “Here. Before it goes cold.”

“Don’t you want me anymore?” Chris teased, taking the still steaming coffee mug. He sipped and moaned enthusiastically. “Never mind. You’re right. No sex until after coffee.” 

“I think you’re enjoying that more than what we did last night,” Steve teased. “Should I be jealous?”

“Definitely. I’m leaving you for your coffee machine. Don’t try to stand in the way of our love, Steve.” Chris opened his eyes and grinned. He started to lean forward, then froze and scrunched his nose. “While coffee breath is better than morning breath, I don’t want to assault you with either. Got a spare toothbrush by any chance?”

Steve smiled, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Yeah, I do.” He closed the distance between them and laid a soft, closed-mouth kiss on Chris’s lips. “But, I don’t mind it, though.” He studied Chris a moment before moving out of the shelter of Chris and blankets and cinnamon coffee. “First, finish that, have some toast.”

Chris hummed and ambled to the kitchen table, choosing a chair in a puddle of sunlight. They worked through the toast and chatted quietly about nothing at all between sips of cooling coffee. Steve resisted rubbing at the weightless feeling in his chest but didn’t fight the soft smile that pulled at his lips every time Chris looked over at him.

Breakfast finished, Steve studied the content look on Chris’s face as he leaned back in the chair, face tilted toward the window. The comfortable silence wrapped around Steve and settled into the empty places in his heart, filling him with unwanted hope. He looked down, gathered the warmth of the moment close and cleared his throat. 

“Shower?” 

Chris opened his eyes, turning to study Steve for a minute. He stood abruptly and let the blanket pool on the chair and spill down to the floor. Steve swallowed hard, gazing hungrily at the naked body in front of him, eyes following the dips and curves of unexpected musculature smattered with bruises he’d left behind last night. 

Chris turned and strolled toward the bathroom. “Only if you join me,” he called over his shoulder.

Steve’s chair tipped backward, falling to the floor with a clatter. He caught up to Chris halfway between the bathroom and kitchen,  wrapping around him in a mirror of their earlier position. Together, they tripped through the doorway with laughter echoing off the tile. 

Chris gently nudged Steve back. “Toothbrush first, I wanna kiss you properly.”

Steve bit lightly at the hard ridge of Chris's shoulder. “Second drawer under the sink.”

Chris smirked at him in the mirror and slowly bent forward, pushing his ass with deliberate precision into the cradle of Steve’s hips. Steve’s hands landed hard on the sink, fingers digging into the marble, and he gasped, rocking into the lush heat. 

“Steve…”

He groaned and dropped his head to mouth at the strong lines of Chris’s back.

“…why do you have five toothbrushes?”

Steve paused, processing the question. He huffed and straightened, stepped back to lean against the wall. “Bulk buy online. It was the same price as one at the market, and I was already placing an order so…” He shrugged and returned the smile Chris flashed him.

“So you’re not…” The question petered out.

“Entertaining legions of overnight visitors?” Steve scratched his chin and looked away. “My apartment has a lock, not a revolving door.” He stepped around Chris, ignoring the flash of…something over Chris’s features. Whatever it was, it disappeared as quickly as it came. He plucked his own toothbrush out of the cup on the sink, opened the cabinet and grabbed the toothpaste, squeezing a dollop onto the bristles and holding the tube out to the man next to him. 

The silence was no longer as relaxed as it had been during breakfast. Steve stared at the sink, moving through the mechanics of brushing and rinsing. He turned and pulled the shower door open, twisting the taps, testing the water and adjusting the temperature. The feeling of his underwear being tugged down was unexpected enough to force a laugh from him. 

“There you are,” Chris husked into his neck, breath cool and minty. 

Steve shook off his unease, stepped out of the fabric tangled around his ankles and tugged Chris into the shower, crowding him against the wall and swallowing the hiss inspired by cold tile against his back. He pulled back, blinked the water from his eyes. “I’m right,” he rolled his hips against Chris’s, “here.” Steve watched, fascinated, loving the rapid dilation of Chris’s pupils, the way that lush mouth tipped open to draw in a desperate breath. 

“That’s it,” Steve whispered, darting forward to lick the droplets of water from Chris’ neck, digging his teeth lightly into that damn bruise, relishing the whine that rose above the sounds of falling water and fingers slipping on slick skin. Steve kissed up the straining tendon in Chris’ neck, nibbled at the earlobe above the hinge of his jaw, tugged it between his teeth. “You with me?”

Chris moaned, clutched Steve’s hair in his fist, tugging hard. Steve gasped, loving the dull ache.

“Yes, I’m with you,” Chris echoed on a groan. “I’ve been right fucking here the whole-“ He bit at Steve’s lips, gasping “more” and “harder” and “please.”

Steve’s hand dropped to Chris’s thigh, fingers digging in, as he raised and settled it on his hip, opening Chris’s body. He clutched the firm buttock and lifted, growled his approval when Chris anchored his forearms on his shoulders and trusted Steve’s strength to steady them both. His other hand dragged down from pinching Chris’s nipple to grip the other cheek, forcing Chris to hop up slightly and wrap both legs around his waist.

The temperature surrounding them rose higher, water and steam mixing with sweat. Steve rested his forehead on Chris’s shoulder and thrust up in counterbalance to Chris’s increasingly desperate rocking. His eyes closed at the feeling of his cock sliding along Chris’ perineum and heavy balls, the unrelenting heat of Chris’s cock gliding against his belly.

Steve groaned, wanting everything Chris could give him, wanting them to both be lost in this moment. 

He pressed Chris harder into the wall, balanced their weight and worked a hand between them and gripped Chris tight, drinking in the shout he got in response. A few thrusts into his fist and Chris’s body locked up, head tossed back against the wall, fingers twisting painfully in Steve’s hair. 

The hot rush spattered their chests, and Steve thrust harder against Chris’s slick skin, chasing his own pleasure. Chris looked down, gaze hot and satisfied. He leaned his head forward, mouth brushing Steve’s, and whispered, “C’mon, Steve, give it to me,” as he tugged once more on Steve’s hair. Steve’s eyes slammed shut, and a choked shout echoed around them. 

He leaned into Chris, gasping through the final shudders of his orgasm. Chris eased one leg down, then the other and turned them so Steve was leaning against the wall, gazing stupidly at him, and plucked the soap out of the basket under the shower head. 

Steve smiled. “Gonna wash my back now?” 

Chris smirked back. “Among other things.”

Steve’s eyes closed and he ignored the warning bells in his head when he whispered, “I’m all yours.”

 

* * *

“I don’t know why, but I was half expecting a leather strop and a straight edge.” Chris waved the capped safety razor at Steve. “Or a sharpened piece of flint. Isn’t that how the boys did it back in your day?”

“Sure, and we managed without mirrors right after we bathed in the half frozen river.” Steve shook his head. “I don’t know why you don’t believe me when I tell you I didn’t live like a savage. It was the thirties, not the third century.”

Chris put the razor on the counter and stroked his hand down Steve’s whiskers. “Because you’re just too cute when you’re all flustered. You get the prettiest blush right here -” His thumb caressed Steve’s cheek lightly, “- just like that.” He grinned and dropped his hand.

Steve huffed, swirling his shaving brush around the little bowl of soap and fighting the hot flush pulsing under his skin. “I have replacement blades if you want.”

Chris shook his head and readjusted the towel around his waist. “I like to give my skin the weekend off.”

“Smart man.”

“Do you ever let yours go? Grow a beard maybe?”

Steve shrugged and buffed the shaving cream into his stubble. “Not really. Why?”

Chris tilted his head, studied Steve for a moment. “I think you’d look good with one.” His nose wrinkled. “What am I saying; you look good no matter what.”

Steve set the brush down and dipped the razor into the hot water in the sink. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”

“I know.” Chris waggled his eyebrows with a dirty grin before he left the bathroom in search of his clothes.

Steve looked at himself in the mirror, considering Chris’ words.  _ Could work. Better than having to shave every day. _ He moved quickly through his routine, blotted his face dry and splashed on a small amount of the aftershave Chris seemed to like.

He found Chris, and the folded clothes from the couch, in the bedroom. “Want a clean pair of shorts?” 

“Nah, I don't need them.” Chris laughed delightedly when Steve tripped over nothing. 

“Christ,” he muttered, eyes wide, watching Chris tug the dark denim up his legs and tuck everything safely away before zipping them closed.

“Nope, still Chris.”

Steve sent him a flat look and turned back to his dresser, picking out socks and underwear to pair with a soft henley and broken in jeans. “You find your stuff? Shouldn’t be too wrinkled.” He paused, weighing his words and deciding to go for broke. “Unless you wanted to borrow something.” He concentrated on pulling his clothes on. He glanced up after a minute, curiosity getting the better of him, relieved to find a sweet smile on Chris’s face.

“Yeah, that’d be…if you have something I could use. My shirt’s not here, or fit for wearing I’m guessing.”

Steve opened another drawer and selected a dark maroon sweater, the knit soft and warm enough to be worn without a shirt underneath.

Chris’s fingers brushed his when he took the garment. “Thanks.”

Steve smiled, enjoying the tug in his chest when faced with a freshly washed and be-stubbled Chris in fitted jeans and a sweater too large for him.

Chris smiled back and reached into the top drawer, pulling a pair of socks out. “These too, if that’s okay.”

“Of course.”

Five minutes later, Chris was leaning against the wall next to the stairwell, grumbling about Steve’s lack of scarves while Steve locked the door. He pocketed the keys and debated holding out his hand for Chris to take. Not wanting to risk the possibility of making Chris uncomfortable ( _ Remember, Rogers, this is supposed to be casual _ ), he instead swept his arm out for Chris to precede him down the stairs. 

Chris reached forward to pull open the glass door just as Sam jogged tiredly up the steps of the building.

“Sam! You went out this morning?” Steve greeted his friend and moved aside to let the older man in.

“Have to try and get an edge on your skinny ass,” Sam replied, resting his hands on his knees. He looked over at Chris. “Hey, man. Sam Wilson. You must be Chris.” He straightened and held out his hand.

Steve cleared his throat and fought down a blush.

Chris blinked, glancing sideways at Steve while he reached out to grip Sam’s hand. “I must be, huh? Chris Beck. Pleased to meet you.”

“You too. Steve here has been having fun at my expense every morning since just after he moved in. Decided I must need instruction or something since what I do apparently isn’t real running.” Sam heaved a dramatic sigh. “Our boy enjoys mocking his elders.”

Chris laughed, and Steve rolled his eyes. “I keep telling you, you’re only technically older than me.”

“Whatever, dude. My lady appreciates the results. That’s the only reason I put up with you.” His smile turned sly, and Steve felt a moment’s dread. “Guess I know why you didn’t show this morning. I thought you got called out for a job, but looks like you were getting your own workout in instead, huh?” He glanced meaningfully at Chris’s throat.

Steve fought the urge to rub his forehead, but Chris’s snort of amusement just egged him on. “Cardio and strength training, Sam. You know how many calories are burned holding a full grown man up in the shower?”

“Oh my god,” Chris muttered with a chuckle.

Sam’s eyes widened. “Uh…” He floundered a moment, glancing between them until Chris smiled pleasantly at him.

“Don’t let Steve fool you, Sam, he hardly did all the work.”

Sam barked out a surprised laugh. “Rogers, you have to bring him next Sunday. Carmen’s gonna want to meet him.”

He clapped Sam on the shoulder and nodded. “Yeah, sure. Say hello to her for me, will ya?”

Sam nodded and waved them out the door, still chuckling.

They were halfway down the block when Chris turned to Steve and asked, “What did I just get volunteered to do next weekend?”

Steve ducked his head. “Shit, I’m sorry. Sam and his wife are having a party. You don’t have to…”

Chris sighed and took Steve’s hand in his, interlacing their fingers and squeezing tight for a moment. “Well if it’s a party I guess I can shift my busy schedule around.”

Steve, both shocked and thrilled by the open display of affection, peered at Chris from under his lashes. “I know you don’t get a lot of free time. You really don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”

Chris shook his head and brushed a quick kiss on Steve’s cheek. “If you want me to, I’ll be there. Sam seems like good people.”

Steve risked a light squeeze to Chris’s hand. “He is.” He cleared his throat. “So, lunch?”

Chris leaned on his shoulder, and their walk slowed to a stroll. “Yeah. Lunch.”


	9. Chapter 9

Steve was just stepping out of the shower when the doorbell chimed, low and pleasant, through the apartment. He glanced at the clock in the hall and swore quietly.

“Come in!” Steve shouted while he searched the linen cabinet next to the tub for a towel. 

“I’d love to!” Chris’s cheerful voice called through the door. “But it’s locked,” he continued and gave the handle a confirmatory jiggle.

Steve scrambled to find something clean to cover himself with. Not that Chris hadn’t seen, well, everything already, but there was no need to give Mrs. Muller across the hall a free show if he could avoid it. Steve was half convinced she held a glass up to the wall to listen for footsteps in the stairwell just so she could ‘happen’ to open the door when someone would walk by. He didn’t really blame her. Until Chris started coming by, neither he nor the widow Muller had many visitors. She was a nice enough lady, just a bit nosey for Steve’s comfort.  

“Damn, hang on!” He grabbed the first towel he found in the laundry basket next to the couch and slipped slightly on the wood floors. “Shit,” he muttered, grinning at the muffled snort he could hear over his dash around the apartment. 

“Sorry!” Steve said, sliding the lock out of place and opening the door to a smiling Chris. He stood there a moment, smiling back, ridiculously happy to see the man standing in the hallway. 

It had been over a week since they’d seen each other and Steve took a moment to just look at Chris. His hair was carefully styled and lightly slicked back, a faint layer of stubble shadowed his jaw and chin. Steve swallowed and leaned heavily on the door frame, dragging his eyes down the uninterrupted line of black that made up Chris’s clothing. 

Black suit, shirt, tie, belt, shoes...he trailed his gaze back up slowly, lingered hungrily on the intimate way the trousers cupped his thighs and hips, admired how the buttoned vest accentuated his slim waist, the open jacket showcasing the width of his strong shoulders. 

“Wow,” he breathed and reached forward to snag his fingers in a belt loop. “You look incredible.” He pulled Chris forward, into the apartment and contemplated leaning in, maybe licking a line from the crisp collar to his chin before nibbling on Chris’s full lips.

“I could say the same,” Chris smirked, pointedly looking below Steve’s waist. “Hell of a look. I approve.”

Steve’s brows furrowed and he looked down, confused for a moment before he laughed. The towel he’d grabbed wasn’t the large, overly fluffy kind he secretly favored but was a thin kitchen towel that barely left anything to the imagination. The hand he was holding it with was nearly the same size as the strip of linen. He shoved the door closed and, giving up all pretense of modesty, leaned in to breath a soft kiss on Chris’s lips as he dropped the thin scrap of fabric to the floor. He tugged Chris closer and cradled the back of his head, fingers carding through strands of soft dark hair.

“Hmmm, now you look even better,” Chris murmured, smiling into the next kiss. 

Steve shuddered at the feeling of fingers scratching gently down his back and moaned when Chris clutched his hip hard, pulling them together so he could lean against Steve. They stood in the hall, trading kisses that hinted at possibilities involving much less clothing on Chris’s part and a flat surface of some kind. Steve reluctantly pulled away, conscious of both the time and the possibility of leaving awkward stains on those perfect black trousers.

It was only when he stepped back that he noticed a white box, speckled gray from moisture, settled against Chris’s hip. It was held in place with his arm, and a damp umbrella hung loosely in his hand. 

“Still raining?” He tugged Chris further into the apartment, slightly self-conscious of his nudity but enjoying the sensation of Chris’s hooded gaze sweeping over his body as he walked behind Steve. 

“Mmm.” Chris’ footsteps echoed on the floorboards. “What?” 

Steve looked over his shoulder just in time to see Chris biting his lower lip while staring at Steve’s backside. He smirked and purposefully flexed one cheek, then the other, snorting at the resultant strangled sounding moan. 

“Help yourself to something to drink while I get dressed,” he nodded toward to kitchen and rolled his eyes the wounded look Chris gave him. “What?”

“Do you  _ have _ to get dressed? You must know I fully support any and all eschewing of clothing right now.” Chris set the bakery box on the table and dropped his umbrella on the kitchen tile. He shrugged out of his jacket, rested it on the back of a chair and swaggered, actually  _ swaggered _ , over to Steve, his hands tucked into his pockets. 

“Uh…” Steve froze.

Chris stopped a handspan away, eyes tracking water droplets as they wended meandering paths from his hair to his neck, down his chest and over his stomach. Steve wasn’t sure if he wanted Chris to touch him - trace his fingers over those same damp trails, form new lines of heat and sensation over his skin. Maybe he should hide in his bedroom until his erection went away, considering Sam’s party started ten minutes ago. He swallowed hard as Chris watched him, feeling an odd combination of powerful and vulnerable, standing naked in the doorway to his bedroom, scant inches separating him from the man he…

Steve winced and looked down, shoulders hunching in an unconscious effort to hide some of what he was feeling, unsure exactly how he wanted to finish that thought. He saw Chris straighten in his peripheral, taking a hand out of his pocket to reach out to Steve.

“Steve?”

“You stop in at La Belle?” He asked, turning away and keeping his back to Chris while he rummaged through the dresser for underwear and socks. He frowned when silence met his question and turned to look at Chris, who lingered in his doorway looking bewildered.

Fuck. 

“Smells good, whatever it is.” He smiled, pushing his regret aside. He hated that he’d caused the uncertainty on Chris’s face, the confusion his body language was practically shouting.

“It...yeah. I did.” Chris shook his head faintly and took a deep breath. “Can you actually smell it?” He propped a shoulder against the wall, half leaning into the room.

“Kinda,” Steve slipped his boxer briefs on, hamming up the play of muscles under skin for Chris’s sake, anxious to move on from his abrupt retreat. “I know it’s fruit. Peaches maybe. And...a crumble topping? Too much cinnamon for anything else.”

“Yeah. Peach crumble. That’s...exactly what I bought. How’d you-” he shook his head, probably knowing the rote answer Steve would give. He crossed one ankle in front of the other and settled in to watch Steve go through the motions of drying his hair and chest with a towel, the proper towel he’d left on the bed when he’d gotten undressed before showering. 

Steve tossed the damp cloth into the hamper in the corner. “Hey, where’s your rubbers?” He whirled around when he heard a pained choking sound. “Chris? What’s wrong?” He rushed over and grabbed Chris’s shoulders, frantically looking him over for...whatever was causing him to turn that painful looking shade of purple and red. 

“I’m fine” Chris coughed, staring at him, eyes wide, face flushed, leaning into Steve’s hands for support. “I...uh...didn’t bring any? You haven’t said anything about...and I thought you’d...” Steve dogged an uncoordinated hand that gestured vaguely around the room.

“What? What haven’t I said?”

“Um...sex?” 

Steve’s body went hot, but bafflement won out over the flood of increasingly graphic images that flashed through his mind. “Sex?” His fingers tightened involuntarily, digging into Chris’ arms for a moment before he made himself let go.

Chris straightened and gave him a strange look. “Why else would I need rubbers?”

Steve’s head tilted toward the window. “It’s raining? And your shoes are swanky?”

“Wait.” Chris rubbed the bridge of his nose. “You don’t mean condoms, do you.”

It was Steve’s turn to choke. “Condoms?” He echoed, more than a little lost. “What do condoms have to do with your shoes?”

Chris laughed, a breathless little sound. “Rain boots; you’re talking about rain boots.”

“Of course I am! What else-” Steve stopped. Sighed and looked down, hands on hips. “Rubber means condom now, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah. It does.”

“Fuck.”

Chris let loose a wild sounding chuckle. “Yeah, man, that’s what they’re for.”

Steve shot him a playful sneer. “Shut up.” He turned, an embarrassed smile tugging at his lips and started digging through his closet, pulling a pair of dark charcoal slacks off a hanger. “Chris?”

“Steve?”

“When we do fuck? I’ve got everything we need right there.” He nodded toward the squat bedstand.

“Jesus,” Chris muttered. 

Steve wasn’t sure if the expletive was in reaction to the statement or because he’d just bent over to tug his pants on. Honestly, it didn't matter - either one worked for him. He smiled innocently at Chris and sat down to pull his socks on. 

“I’m gonna go. Get that drink. Now.” Chris spun on his heel and power walked into the kitchen, Steve’s laughter chasing him through the apartment.

“You want anything?” Chris called, and it did funny things to Steve’s stomach that Chris was in Steve’s apartment offering him beverages, casual and comfortable in the space already. 

_ Sounding like a broken record, Rogers. _ He paused, white tank top in hand and took a deep breath, willing himself to remember their agreement. He had to stick to Beck’s wishes and not get his hopes up for something with the potential to be...more. He could do this. He knew he could. He had to. Right? 

“No thanks. I’ll grab somethin’ when we get there.” He tugged the soft cotton top on and picked up a dark blue v-neck sweater with double red piping around the collar. Sam had told him it was nothing fancy, just family and close friends over for dinner and Steve wasn’t afraid to admit how humbled and proud he was to be counted among that exclusive number. He pulled the sweater on and checked his appearance in the full-length mirror inside the closet door, tucking the white undershirt in, then double checked everything was zipped and buttoned. He pushed his feet into a pair brown dress shoes, laced them up, and walked through the living room.

He paused for a moment to study his companion. Chris was standing at the counter in front of the window, watching the rain. He looked lost in thought, fingers absently tapping the countertop in a half-familiar rhythm. Steve moved quietly, stepping behind Chris and winding his arms around his waist. He smiled, thinking it was too bad they didn’t have a blanket this time. He nosed gently at the stripe of skin between collar and hairline.

Chris arched into the sensation, humming in appreciation. “I didn’t get a chance to ask, how’d your assignment go?”

Steve groaned and pushed his face into the cradle of Chris’ neck and shoulder. “Could have been worse I suppose.”

Chris patted the hands linked loosely over stomach. “Couldn’t have been too bad if you didn’t need a visit to medical.” 

“How do you know I didn’t go? You had the day off.” Steve propped his chin on Chris’s shoulder and studied their faint reflection in the window. He felt Chris fidget slightly. “You checked up on me.”

“No!” Chris wrinkled his nose. “Not really. Not like that at least. I was finishing some paperwork and just...happened to check the patient logs before I came over.”

Steve grinned and hugged him tighter for a moment. “You checked up on me.” He turned his head and smacked a loud kiss on his cheek before releasing Chris and stepping back.

“Ugh, fine., Yes; I checked on you.” Chris turned, smiling for a moment before his expression changed to surprise. “What are...is that what you’re wearing?”

Steve frowned and tugged his sweater, suddenly self-conscious. “Yeah? Does it not look okay?” Steve looked down at his outfit. “Are brown shoes wrong with gray pants?” His head snapped up at the fierce curse Chris let out. “What’s wrong?”

Chris dropped his head, hands covering his face. “Steve. Did you even read my texts?”

Steve was completely lost. “What texts?”

“The ones I’ve been sending you for the last three days asking what I needed to wear and do and bring for this party you invited me to!” Chris collapsed against the counter, bracing his arms behind him, and looked up at Steve. “Look at what you’re wearing.” Steve looked down at himself again. “Now look at what  _ I’m _ wearing.”

Steve tilted his head, trying to find fault in Chris’s choice of clothing. “I told you, you look incredible. Amazing. Resplendent. Really fucking sexy.” He held his hands out, palms up. “I don’t know what you’re looking for here, Chris.”

“Rogers.” 

Uh-oh.

“I am wearing a three-piece suit and a two hundred dollar tie.” Chris stared at him steadily.

“Shit. Ties cost that much?” Steve breathed. Sure, he’d been defrosted for a while, but inflation still caused his heart to skip in horror sometimes. Chris glared at him. “That’s not the important part of this conversation, is it?” 

“No, Steve, it’s not. The important part,” he straightened and stalked forward, poked Steve in the chest, “is that you didn’t tell me what I should wear.”

“Was I supposed to?” Steve was lost and amused. An annoyed Chris was hot. Had been since Steve first stumbled into medical all those months ago. 

“Steve.”

He smiled his most charming smile, getting a dirty little thrill from Chris’s answering glare. “Chris.”

“Go check your phone.” 

“Can’t do that, Doc.” Steve rocked back on his heels, hands in pockets to keep from reaching out to smooth the frown lines between Chris’s eyebrows.

“Why not,  _ Captain _ ?”

“‘Cause it got destroyed by an EMP second day out.” 

Chris closed his eyes and breathed deeply, visibly calming himself. Steve was pretty sure he was counting to one hundred, given the long pause.  _ As the barman said to the bear. _ Steve snorted, immediately regretting his internal lapse into terrible jokes when Chris pushed into his personal space.

“You think this is funny, Rogers?”

“No. Absolutely not.” _ Especially since I don’t even know what the problem is! _ Steve was happy to solve the issue, but he had to have data to form a plan of attack. “But, I need you to tell me what’s wrong, though. Other than the exorbitant cost of neckties.” 

Chris stepped back and started pacing the length of the kitchen. “Right. Okay. This is not  _ technically  _ your fault. You were getting shot at in the jungle and your phone got destroyed.” Chris scrubbed a hand through his hair, face scrunching in distaste. “Fucking gel.” He took another deep breath and stopped in the middle of the room, facing Steve. “Steve, where is this party being held?”

“Sam and Carmen’s place. Downstairs. Second floor.” He nearly added ‘east wing of the building’, but he wasn’t sure if Chris would appreciate details at this point.

“Shit. And what is the dress code? Obviously not black tie, like I initially thought.” Chris tugged the tie out of his vest and started yanking at the knot.

“Uh, whatever you’d usually wear to a birthday dinner?” When he’d answered the door, Steve hadn’t gotten past the visual of Chris to consider the whys surrounding his choice of attire. Seeing as how Chris’s left eye was twitching, Steve suspected he wouldn’t appreciate that fact.

“Birthday.” Chris finished pulling the knot free and whipped the tie from under his collar, knuckles white with the frantic grip he had on the silk. “It’s someone’s birthday.”

Shit. “Yes,” he nodded slightly. “Sam’s. His fiftieth, in fact.” 

Steve’s jaw dropped. He hadn’t known Chris could swear like that. He sounded more like the dock workers Steve remembered back in Brooklyn instead of the upper-class medical professional he was. “I take it that’s a problem.”

“Yes, it’s a fucking problem, Steve.” Chris resumed pacing, his voice rising in panic. “I don’t know Sam, and you’re taking me to celebrate his fiftieth. I don’t even have a present for him!” 

Steve slid in front of Chris, effectively stopping him in place, grabbed his shoulders and shook him slightly. “Chris! He didn’t want any presents. And yes, I know that’s not the point, but he told you to come, remember?” Chris stared at him, mouth hanging open slightly. He leaned in, keeping eye contact. “ _ He _ invited you. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I’m sorry my phone got fucked up. I’m sorry.”

Chris closed his eyes and let his head fall forward onto Steve’s shoulder. “No. It’s not your fault. I know it’s not.” Strong arms wound around Steve’s chest and Chris let him take his full weight. “I should have asked before you left. It’s just…” 

Steve hugged Chris closer, leaned down to brush his lips against Chris’ ear. “What is it?”

“I knew something would go wrong. No!” Chris lifted his head when he felt Steve flinch. “No, not like that. Me. I knew I was trying too hard. I figured it’s kinda like an interview right? I’m formally meeting your best friend and his wife. First impressions, you know?” He smiled sadly. “I figured I’d do something wrong.”

Steve was sure Chris could feel the hard thud of his heart. “Chris, you couldn’t fuck this up if you tried; I promise. Sam already likes you. I...well...” Steve felt his cheeks burning but couldn’t stop now. “I talk about you all the time, y’know? He feels like he already knows you. That’s why he invited you - wanted you to be there tonight.” Steve paused a beat, undecided if he should mention the family and close friends only portion of the invitation, but he figured that might be too much at the moment. He cupped Chris’s neck instead, brushed his thumbs over rough cheeks. “Okay?” 

Chris stared intently at him, eyes darting over his face. “Yeah. Okay.” Chris’s shoulders relaxed, and he turned his head, kissing Steve’s palm. 

Steve felt like he’d been electrified, a current of sensation flowing from his palm to his heart, making it stutter, then continuing to regions further south. He wished they had more time, time to just breathe together, exchange soft touches and softer kisses, right there in the kitchen. A glance at the clock on the stove convinced him that would have to wait until later. 

He leaned in and kissed Chris’s forehead. “C’mon, sweetheart.” The arms around him held fast a minute longer, then fell away. He took Chris’s hand. “Gonna be alright?”

Chris nodded, twined their fingers together. “Long as you’re there, I will be.”

Steve felt his chest swell, a fierce protective pride filling him. To hell with it.  _ Take a goddamn chance, Rogers. _ “As long as you want me to be,” he promised. The brilliant smile he got in answer was staggering. Steve couldn’t resist leaning in for a heated kiss, getting lost in the taste and feel of Chris. 

Finally, he pulled away. “Fuck,” he groaned. “Do we need to go?”

“We need to go,” Chris murmured, stealing one more chaste brush of lips. “It’s Sam’s birthday.” He straightened and tugged Steve through the hall to the front door. 

“Do we need the crumble?” Steve gestured at the white box still sitting on the dining table. 

“Oh. I actually-,” Chris blinked. “That was for us. Well, for you. For later. Or tomorrow. I thought… should we take it?” He ran his hand through his hair again, tugging at the strands. “But it’s not a proper birthday cake. Should I go get a cake instead? I think Belle’s is still open?” 

Steve smiled and stopped Chris from heading back to the kitchen for his abandoned umbrella. “Chris. Carmen took care of the cake already. I wasn’t sure if that was hostess gift or-”

“Shit shit shit, I didn’t bring a hostess gift!” Chris was edging toward agitation again. 

Steve crowded him against the wall, blanketing him in body heat and firm muscle. “Chris. I got wine. It’ll be from both of us.” He touched the cleft in Chris’ chin, tracing it lightly with his finger. “Don’t panic.”

Chris huffed out a slightly hysterical laugh. “You didn’t even have your towel. Of course I should panic.” 

“What does that even mean?” Steve shook his head. “Never mind. Let’s go.” He grabbed the bottle of wine from the catch-all table next to the front door and pocketed his keys before taking Chris’ hand again and leading the doctor out the door and downstairs.

“So, I’ve gotta ask.” 

“Hm?” Chris squeezed his fingers softly in acknowledgement.

“If you didn’t know what to wear tonight…” Steve paused, unsure how to pose his question without sounding judgemental or rude.

Chris huffed and rubbed his neck with his free hand. “Why did I go for a full suit instead of something more casual?” 

Steve nodded, slowing their steps on the third-floor landing, wanting to understand before they were thrown feet first into the Wilson family chaos.

“Remember I told you a bit about my family, where I grew up?” Chris seemed to be dragging his feet the closer they got to the second-floor landing. Steve tugged him to a stop and stood on the step below, looking up into Chris’s face, still holding his hand. “My folks are great people, they really are. But they’re...wealthy.” Chris’ nose wrinkled, an embarrassed flush darkened his cheeks. “Gatherings weren't bean dip and beer affairs; we didn’t barbeque in the yard in swim trunks or have bowling alley birthday parties when we were young.”

Steve waited, letting Chris gather his thoughts.

“It was...expected. Dressing up, being on our best behavior. I think I just…” Chris shrugged, self-conscious. “Fell back into a familiar habit.”

Steve leaned in, nuzzling against the skin at the base of Chris’s throat, appreciating the little dip between his collar bones perfectly framed by black cotton. “I don’t know if it helps,” he whispered against warm skin, darting his tongue out to taste, feel the vibrations of Chris’ soft moan against his lips, “but I very much appreciate the effort. You always look good. This, though?” He dragged a fingertip slowly down the line of buttons on Chris’ vest, stopping just above the button and zipper of his pants. “I think it’s my third favorite look.”

Chris tugged his hand free and rested his arms on Steve’s shoulders, fingers carding softly through his hair. “What’s your top favorite look?” he whispered.

“Naked and in my bed,” Steve growled, leaned in to close the few inches between them and licked his way into that lush mouth, swallowing the whimpers Chris gave him.

Chris pulled away, hips rocking into Steve’s stomach. “And the second?” he panted, fingers gripping Steve’s hair to keep his head still so Chris could lean in and nibble softly at his jaw.

“Wearing my shirts,” Steve gasped, pulling against the tension on his scalp to tilt his head, give Chris access to his neck. “Or just a blanket. That works too.”

“My, my, Captain, you do have good taste, don’t you,” Chris hummed, licked the juncture of Steve’s neck and shoulder, blew a cool stream of air over the sensitive patch of skin. 

Steve moaned, low and hungry. “The best,” he gasped out. He dove in for one more kiss, one more taste before he deliberately moved another step down. He reached up and took Chris’s hand again, and smiled softly. “Later. We’re already late.”

Chris closed his eyes and tilted his head back. “You’re tryin’ to kill me, aren’t you.”

Steve shook his head and stepped down again, pulling Chris with him. “That would be counterproductive, Doc. I have plans for you.”

Chris moved with him, hypnotized by Steve’s devilish smile and blown pupils. “Plans?” he echoed.

Steve nodded and slowly let them down the remaining stairs. “Many,  _ many  _ plans.” He stopped in front of a door identical to his own and held the wine out for Chris to take, smiled and straightened the crisp fabric of Chris’s collar and waistcoat. 

“What kind of plans, Captain?” 

Steve shivered. Hearing his title in  _ that _ voice, while Chris looked at him with hooded eyes, licking his lips, was almost more than he could take. “Later,” he repeated and knocked on the door without glancing away from Chris. 

“Steve!” 

Chris started and pulled away slightly. Steve heaved a quiet sigh and faced the now open door. “Sam, Happy Birthday,” he held out his hand and laughed when Sam batted it away and pulled Steve into a one-armed hug instead.

Sam pushed him away and turned to Chris, taking in his flushed appearance and occupied hands and promptly pulled him in for a bone-creaking hug too. Chris froze a moment, then gently wrapped an arm around Sam, careful to not hit him with the bottle.

Sam pulled back and slapped Chris on the shoulder. “Man, I’m so glad you both could make it!” he stepped aside and waved the pair into the moderately noisy apartment. “I wasn’t sure our boy here would get back from wherever they sent him, y’know?”

Steve grinned at his friend and followed him further into the living room, Chris smiling easily at his side. He was impressed that none of the anxiety that had gripped just minutes ago.

“Happy birthday, Sam,” Chris handed him the wine bottle. “Thank you for inviting me.”

“Hey, thanks, man. Of course you should be here; you’re important to Steve, then you’re important to us.” Sam blithely ignored Steve’s warning glare. “Carmen!” Sam waved a woman of medium height and dark curly hair over. “Steve and Chris’re here!”

“Steven!” Carmen stood on her tiptoes, and Steve obligingly stooped down so she could kiss each cheek. “You look healthy! No injuries from your adventures, and oh my, such a lovely young man on your arm.” She slapped Steve’s chest lightly. “Introduce us!” she chided.

Steve stifled a chuckle and released Chris’s hand. “Carmen, this is Chris Beck. Chris, Sam’s beautiful wife, Carmen.” 

He could almost see Chris up the wattage of his smile when he held out his hand.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Wilson.” Instead of shaking Carmen’s small hand, he brought it up and bowed a courtly kiss over her knuckles.

“You’ve got a charmer here, Steven.” Carmen shot a sly look at Steve before shaking her head and tugging Chris down to kiss his cheek. “You’re gonna fit in just fine, Chris. And you better call me Carmen, none of this ‘missus’ business.”

Chris flashed another winning smile. “Yes, ma’am.”

“No, no, that’s worse! It’s Carmen, and I’m not allowing anything less. Now, has my Sam offered you a drink? No? Come with me, we’ll get you settled.” Carmen expertly slid between Steve and Chris and led him into the kitchen, leaving Steve’s arm hanging in empty air for a moment before it dropped.

“What just happened?” Steve turned to Sam, face slightly pinched with confusion.

“Dude, you know what just happened. She did the same thing to you when you first came over, remember?” 

“That’s what I’m worried about,” Steve muttered. “Your wife doesn’t have many boundaries and since you tell her  _ everything _ ,” he mock glared at Sam, “I’m more worried about what she’ll tell Chris than anything else.

Sam grinned and steered Steve toward the other guests. “Nothing to be done about it now. C’mon, mingle! It’s gonna be a while before you see him again. Riley! Steve finally showed up; tell him what you told me yesterday.”

Steve let himself get pulled into conversation with Sam’s old wingman and tried not to worry about leaving Chris alone in the hands of the whirlwind named Carmen Wilson.

He felt his concerns had been justified ten minutes later. He spotted a dazed looking Chris emerging from the kitchen, Carmen’s hand tucked in the crook of his elbow. He was nodding along with whatever she was saying to him, expression flickering from concerned to surprised and back to dazed. Steve fidgeted and forced himself to pay attention to Sam’s niece. 

He  _ knew _ his concerns weren’t baseless as Carmen started walking Chris around the room, heads bent together and whispering now that they were circulating with the rest of the party. Steve’s train of thought stuttered to a halt and he straightened in concern when Chris stopped mid-step and stared at Carmen, mouth open, eyes wide. He didn’t relax until Carmen’s joyful laugh floated over and Chris closed his mouth, smiling shyly down and the petite woman.

He kept his attention focused on Chris, followed his progress around the room. He perked up when Chris shot him an assessing look only to slump a little when Chris shook his head and turned back to Carmen, picking up their whispered conversation again. 

“Steve, he’ll be fine,” Sam chided quietly, attempting to draw him back into conversation.

“You sure about that, Sam?” Steve took a step away, intending to either rescue Chris or himself. Maybe coming tonight wasn’t such a great idea. Maybe Chris was right, maybe-

“Steve. Get back here.” 

He let Sam pull him back. He was being rude. He knew he was, but those looks Chris kept sending him were making him nervous.

“Sam, what’s she doing?” Steve considered focusing his hearing on the pair, maybe eavesdrop a little, just to make sure Chris was okay. 

“She’s being Carmen, that’s what. Same thing happened to you, just let her get through her interrogation. After she’s pulled all his secrets out of him, she’ll turn him loose.” Sam studied him with a furrowed brow and shook his head. “Okay. You just got volunteered to help me set up dinner. The roast should be done. You can do the heavy lifting.”  

Steve followed Sam, glancing once more over his shoulder. Chris met his gaze for a moment, a sly, almost predatory smirk settling over his features. Steve’s eyes widened and he spun around, hurrying to catch up with Sam, the sound of Chris’s laughter echoing behind him.

He really wished he knew what the hell Carmen had told Chris, but given that look? Probably best to wait until they were alone.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please note the rating change

“Look at this.” Chris wiped a hand across his forehead and held it up for inspection. “This is sweat. I was actually – I think I sweat through my shirt.”  To prove the point, he pulled it from his body, grimacing.

“It wasn’t _that_ bad,” Steve laughed.  He could hear Chris’s footfalls behind him, heavy and slow.

The party was over, even though it was only eleven.  Sam kicked them out saying “I’m an old man now; I can’t party with you _kids_ anymore.”Steve had rolled his eyes, knowing better. Judging from the look Carmen was giving Sam, they may be going to _bed_ , but it wasn’t because they were tired.

“It _was_ that bad. By the way – Carmen, is she one of us?”

“You mean SHIELD? No, never.  She works at the VA with Sam.”

“We’re missing out then; that woman could break our top operatives,” Chris drawled.  Steve knew he’d had a couple glasses of wine, and he looked to be on the right side of mellow given the  dopey grin on his face even as he described Carmen’s fearsomely efficient interrogation tactics. “That impatient sigh she’s got is more effective than any acquisition tactic I’ve ever heard of.”

“You should see her ‘disappointed’ face,” Steve told him, and Chris laughed, still fanning his shirt.

“ _No_ _thank_ _you_. I have received my mother’s numerous times and am no way interested to see how the two compare,” Chris chuckled.

Steve stopped in front of his door. “And you call yourself a scientist,” Steve admonished playfully, and even he could hear the fondness in his own voice. “Thanks for coming tonight.”

Chris hummed. “Of course. I had fun, even though I’m pretty sure I was just thrown to the wolves.”

Steve chuckled. “Carmen can be intense, but I swear she’s harmless. Well, mostly harmless…” Steve paused, playing with his keys absentmindedly. Chris had handled the evening perfectly: he was friendly, engaging with everyone as he told hilarious and crude stories about medical school; he helped Carmen serve dessert and even earned a copy of the family recipe for the cheesecake; he hung off every word Sam said when he told a story about the first time he’d been roped into helping the Avengers twenty years ago.  For someone just meeting the Wilsons and their family for the first time, Chris stepped in like he’d known them his whole life.  “She likes you,” Steve said softly. Her approval meant more to Steve than he had expected, easing the tight ball of nerves in his stomach that he hadn’t even known he’d been carrying.

“That’s good, right?” Chris murmured, taking a step closer and keeping his voice low like a secret.

Steve looked up from his hands to find Chris was watching him carefully, his expression no longer cheeky and playful but soft and fond.

Steve nodded absently, his words catching as something slid into place in his mind -- the dinner party, the yearning, the warmth bubbling in his chest…when did this happen?

Steve felt off-kilter, his axis tilting in a new direction.  He stood up straight and rolled his shoulders back, pushing the thought back into the far recesses of his mind, determined to not let something like falling in love rattle him or ruin the evening.

“So…since you survived,” Steve started, his voice steadying with each word, “am I walking you to your car, or am I taking you inside?”

Chris leaned against the doorframe..  He was loose from the wine, relaxed and open, and Steve let his eyes rake up his body unabashedly, taking in Chris’s long legs, lingering on how Chris’s hands, deep in his pockets, accentuated the bulge in his slacks.  His shirt was half unbuttoned already with his waistcoat undone completely, and the hollow of his throat glistened with sweat; Steve felt the urge to taste it.

And then he remembered he could - he was _allowed_ \- so he did.

Stepping in close, Steve snaked an arm around Chris’s waist and dipped his mouth to Chris’s exposed collarbones, lips dragging up the column of his neck, the tip of his tongue tracing along damp skin. He tasted of sweat and a little bit of the wine he’d sipped through the night.

“Inside,” Chris answered, breathless, as Steve nipped just below Chris’ jaw. Chris groaned, and Steve smiled before tipping back to look at Chris properly, but Chris’ expression wasn’t what Steve had expected. Where Steve had expected to find lust or hunger, he found consideration. Chris’ face was open and unguarded, eyes wide and lips parted, blush high on his cheeks.  His eyes searched Steve’s, looking for something. For what, Steve didn’t know, and he wasn’t completely sure he wanted to find out. After a quick beat, a slow, knowing smile spread across Chris’ lips.

Steve’s stomach flipped and heat blossomed beneath his skin.  He felt caught, like Chris had figured him out, read his mind, though he wasn’t sure why.  He must’ve been staring too long, stuck in his own thoughts, because Chris carefully took the keys out of Steve’s hands and, on the first try, unlocked the door and wordlessly pulled Steve inside by his hand.

When Chris pressed him against the door, that sly smirk still on his face, he paused for only a moment before leaning into Steve.  A dry press of his lips, almost tender, though Steve could still feel that smile, and it stole his breath. He gasped, and Chris didn’t hesitate to deepen the kiss, opening his mouth and tracing his tongue along Steve’s bottom lip.

This time, Steve didn’t falter. His hands found Chris’s hips and pulled him close. He pressed forward eagerly, his body tightening, ready to pull Chris down to the carpet like before – it had been too long.  But when Steve began to push, Chris’s hands framed either side of his face and held him, slowing their kiss to a languid pace and siphoning the urgency from Steve one gentle press of his lips at a time.

Steve let Chris lead as he tugged him back to Steve’s bedroom. Not once did their lips part for longer than a second as the world seemed to condense around them, focusing on this moment, on this man.

Steve steadied himself, his hands on Chris’s elbows, as they reached the bed. Chris sat, but instead of crowding him like Steve would’ve done before, he knelt in front of Chris, his lips still on his.  Chris hummed in delight as Steve sank to his knees between his thighs, pressing his palms along the inseam of his pants. When Steve’s hands reached his waist, he let his fingers pull the hem of his shirt from his slacks and drift beneath, finding warm, smooth skin. Chris’s hands traced down Steve’s forearms, fingers gliding down to his wrists and resting on the backs of Steve’s hands, encouraging their movement along the exposed skin found further beneath Chris’s shirt.

Steve pulled back from the kiss just enough to open his eyes, and he watched as Chris’s own fluttered shut at the slide of Steve’s fingers up his sides, over his chest, and Chris sighed against Steve’s mouth, practically undone by his touch alone.  

With most of the buttons of Chris’s shirt undone, Steve was able to tug it up over Chris’s head, his lips moving to Chris’s chest and the hard contours of his stomach.  Others may be surprised to see what body Chris had beneath the baggy uniform and white coat he wore to SHIELD, and Steve reveled in the idea that he knew a secret no one else did. He took his time, letting his tongue trace each line, his mouth lingering on a pebbled nipple, a kiss for each abdominal, and keeping every sound Chris gave him in return.

When he got to his trousers, Steve unbuckled them easily, tugging on the legs until Chris fell back onto his elbows as he lifted his hips, eyes still on Steve.  Chris himself was a sight to see: his lips bruised red, wet from kisses, his hair tousled from Steve’s fingers. He looked thoroughly debauched already, and they hadn’t even gotten to the best part.

Chris’s eager whine and bucking hips let Steve know he was ready for it, though, but now Steve wanted to take his time and savor the man in his arms in the way he’d been denied all evening. He raked his fingers down Chris’s sides, his hips, before hooking into his boxers and pulling them down, revealing his half-hard cock.

“Steve,” Chris moaned on a breath, his head tipping back between his shoulders as Steve licked a long stripe up the underside of Chris’s cock before closing his lips around the hot flesh.  It responded immediately, firming up more and more, and Steve savored the weight in his mouth when he finally swallowed him down. Steve let himself get lost in it, the slow  bobbing  rhythm and Chris’s fingers tangling in his hair.  He kept a steady pace, but as Chris’s moans grew longer and higher, Steve found himself picking up speed, his mouth sucking harder, faster, his tongue pressing along the shaft with each movement.

He was so focused on Chris, he hadn’t even realized Chris had moved until he felt cool plastic press on the back of his hand. Pulling off Chris with an audacious pop, Steve glanced over to see his bedside drawer pulled open, its contents in disarray.

Chris sunk his teeth into a smile, biting his lip as Steve looked at the bottle of lube. Steve’s heart was beating out of his chest, and if he hadn’t been engineered to medical perfection, he’d swear it was skipping beats. “You sure?” He whispered, worried about tipping the balance of the moment.

Chris nodded gently, only once. “C’mon, come up here,” he said, settling back further onto the bed and out of Steve’s reach.

Steve obeyed silently, sidling up beside him slowly and coming to rest on Chris’s right side.  Popping the cap, Chris drizzled the lube generously on Steve’s fingers before Steve passed his hand, hardly touching, along the contours of Chris’s strong body appreciatively, Chris humming with approval and spreading his thighs just enough for Steve’s fingers.

Chris gave Steve the sweetest, punched-out sigh as Steve breached him with one slippery finger, stilling and relaxing beneath him. Steve groaned, turning his face into Chris’s neck, feeling the tightness of Chris’s body around his finger and murmuring Chris’s name.

Chris turned his face to Steve’s, beckoning him for a lazy kiss. His left hand wrapped around Steve’s wrist between his thighs, encouraging him to move a little faster, shifting the angle to how he liked – _and damn_ – did that blow Steve’s mind.

A second finger, a third, and Chris was _begging_ for it – for _more_ – and Steve could hardly roll the condom on fast enough as he settled over Chris, lips and hands fumbling in earnest.  Kneeling with a hand behind either of Chris’s knees, Steve pressed forward, sheathing himself within the heat of Chris’s body.  He could feel his mouth drop open, his brows pinching, in complete awe as he watched Chris take him inch by inch. Chris gasped when Steve bottomed out, hands slipping between the space of his thighs to grab at Steve’s waist, urging him to move.

“When did you get so eager?” Steve asked, voice hoarse.  Despite Chris’s efforts, Steve couldn’t be persuaded to move, and instead rubbed his hands soothingly up and down the backs of Chris’s thighs. He wanted to make sure that Chris was truly ready, and he may have needed a minute to collect himself if they didn’t want this to be over embarrassingly fast.

“I’d like to get fucked today, Steve,” Chris urged, but relaxed minutely when he realized Steve really wasn’t going to budge.

“Patience is a virtue,” Steve teased.  He leaned forward, dropping to his elbows to lie atop Chris, their noses brushing. “I thought you wanted us to take our time.”

Chris huffed a breath. “There’s no need for me to prove my virtue, and taking our time was great for foreplay but – you’re driving me _crazy_ here,” Chris laughed, breathless. He snaked his arms low around Steve’s waist and tipped his chin up to faintly press his lips to Steve’s. “Just fuck me,” he whispered.

“So bossy,” Steve tsked, but he had waited long enough, and with Chris’s insistence, Steve finally tilted his hips back slowly and fully intending to give Chris what he wanted.  He snapped his hips into Chris forcefully, Chris groaned, low and guttural, and Steve couldn’t help but laugh at him.

“Shut up, you’ve got no idea – you’ve got no idea how long I’ve waited for this, and it’s…by far…exceeding…expectations…” Chris said, his words punctuating with each forceful thrust.  Steve preened, slotting their mouths together and giving Chris a filthy kiss as he thrust faster, harder, over and over and reveling in the press of Chris’s fingers on his hips, feeling the hitch of Chris’s breath in his mouth as he pushed him closer and closer and –

“Wait! _Wait_ ,” Chris gasped, stilling Steve’s hips.

“What?” Steve asked, a little frantic as he wiped his brow. His heart was thudding in his chest, more out of confusion and worry than exertion.  Chris pushed his shoulders, rolling him onto his back and quickly sitting astride his hips.

“Relax, you didn’t hurt me,” Chris said, grabbing Steve’s hands and placing them on his waist. “I just don’t want to come like that.” Chris squeezed Steve’s fingers in reassurance as he rolled his hips, settling back on Steve’s cock in one smooth movement.

“I was joking about the bossy thing but – _fuck_ – you really –“

Chris shushed him, chuckling but not holding back as his hips moved languidly, their rhythm faultless.  Steve felt like his eyes were crossing, dizzy with the pleasure and it didn’t take long after that.  Chris moved Steve’s hand to his cock, and together they stroked him until Chris was gasping, shooting across Steve’s chest with a throaty moan.  

Steve couldn’t take his eyes off Chris, his face open and honest in his pleasure, and Steve lost it, pumping into him with abandon until he found his own release moments later, Chris riding him through it.

They spent a few moments watching each other, their movements slowing as they came down until Chris finally stopped, his eyes wide and smiling in disbelief. Steve looked away, suddenly shy from the reverent look he was getting from Chris.

“That was amazing,” Chris grinned.

“It was. Why didn’t we do that sooner?” Steve asked, running a hand through his sweaty hair, and thankful that the flush he felt creeping up his neck could be blamed on the sex.

“ _You_ were amazing.” Steve dropped his arm over his face, hiding in the crook of his elbow from Chris’s praise.

“Hey, why are you hiding?” Chris asked, pushing Steve’s arm off his face. The look on Steve’s face stopped him short, and that patient expression was settled over Chris’s features and again, seemed far too knowing. “ _Steve_.”

“What?”

Chris laughed softly and rolled off Steve with a huff and a shake of his head. “Nothing.”

He didn’t sound upset, or even surprised, just exasperated, but Steve was tired and, admittedly, still rattled.  He wasn’t ready for whatever conversation Chris was inviting with that look; he just wanted to appreciate the afterglow of an amazing fuck.

Steve closed his eyes and laid there, the air conditioning kicking on, a low hum in the quiet. He thought for sure Chris had fallen asleep and risked a glance over, only to find the other man looking back at him.

“What are you thinking?” Chris asked.

“That we should get cleaned up,” Steve answered, half-truthful.

“Mm.”

Steve sat up and padded to the bathroom, tying off the condom to clean himself up before wetting a washcloth and toeing his way back to Chris.  Chris raised his head the minute Steve stepped into the room and watched him as Steve sat beside him, offering the cloth. Chris didn’t take it though, and Steve rolled his eyes as he cleaned Chris gently up himself, his eyes avoiding Chris’s unreadable expression.

Steve tossed the washcloth aside and crawled over Chris to the open space on the bed. That nagging feeling that he was too invested in this, in a ‘‘booty call relationship,’’ made Steve doubt himself, worried that he may be asking for too much, more than Chris might want to give, no matter how much Steve craved his contact and intimacy.

He wished he could just tell Chris how he felt without worrying that he was fucking this up.  While he thought he could live without the sex (as mind-blowing as it was), he knew there was more on the line than just that; Chris’s friendship was something Steve didn’t want to, couldn’t bear to, risk.

“I’ve got the distinct feeling you’re overthinking things again,” Chris muttered, his hand reaching blindly for Steve’s between them. “What is it?”

 _I’m falling for you,_ Steve thought. He couldn’t just _say_ _that_ …could he?

The silence held between them for a long time, and when it was clear Steve wasn’t going to talk, Chris sighed heavily, releasing his hand. “I guess I should go,” he mumbled, sitting up.

Steve surged up, grabbing Chris’s wrist gently. “No, don’t. Stay.” Chris watched him for a moment, frozen, his eyes searching Steve’s. “Please.”

“Do you really want me here?” Chris asked, his question loaded with uncertainty, and Steve mentally kicked himself for being the cause of Chris’s doubt.

“Yes,” Steve answered straightaway. “Yes, of course. Stay.” He tugged on Chris’s wrist, and the relief that flooded him was immediate when Chris let himself fall back beside Steve. Steve rested his head on Chris’s chest, wrapping himself around him as if to keep Chris from leaving again.  Steve reached back and grabbed the comforter from the far side of the bed, pulling it over them and not even bothering to adjust beneath the blanket properly.

As he listened to Chris’s breathing even out beside him, Steve felt the pull of sleep.  He was sure Chris was asleep himself when he heard the rumble of Chris’s voice beneath his ear: “I wish you would just tell me,” Chris murmured, his arm tightening around Steve. “I promise, it will be ok.”

Steve nuzzled further into Chris’s chest but didn’t dare say a word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "...feelings are hard" - Steve, probably.  
> "Boys are stupid" - Chris, _definitely._

**Author's Note:**

> Fic title inspired by Frank Sinatra's "Fly Me to the Moon"
> 
> Any questions please feel free to find either of us on tumblr ([captainbeardburn](http://) and [dorlgirl](http://dorlgirl.tumblr.com)), we love to talk shop on all things BeckRogers! :)
> 
> Please, please let us know what you think, either with comments or kudos or both! It really motivates us!


End file.
